The Ties that Bind
by Eyes like Dawn
Summary: The Darkness that is the Legion edges forward towards Azeroth. Two races that meet in the Stonetalon Mountains are Azeroth's only hope. Led by two perilous leaders that become drawn to one another,can the armies over come hatred to fight the evil? R&R
1. Stonetalon

_A/N: Yay, first full length Thrall/Jaina story! First off, this is set in WARCRAFT 3, not World of Warcraft per say. If you know the lore or played the campaign, you know that Thrall and Jaina sailed to Kalimdor at the word of the prophet Medivh to seek an oracle. While I have made my own changes to the campaign and those thereafter, the Stonetalon Mountains, searching for the Oracle, is where we begin._

**Blizzard owns Warcraft (Obviously)**

Minor characters of my own creation:

Dan'ruk: Shaman in training as Thralls apprentice.

Sarah Brightguard: Jaina's lifelong friend and maid servant.

Darren Silvercrest: Head spy master and lieutenant for Jainas forces.

**~8~8~**

The Stonetalon Mountains rambled off like a line of black and frost caped jagged teeth protruding out from the verdant earth of Kalimdor and up towards the crisp cobalt blue sky. Its range of precarious ledges and heart stopping drops spanned for miles in either direction shadowing the land in the shroud of its ominous majesty. Just by staring at the colossal mountain would make a person wide eyed with wonder thinking of the dark pockmarked caverns below the dreaded rock; who knew how deep the caverns below the rocky walls would delve; feet, miles, to the center of Azeroth itself?

Tan, speckled, and indigo Wyvern soared lazily around its towering peaks, the rare welcomed guests of the mountain that seemed to forever pulse with hostility and danger. Their helter-skelter nests of twigs, and scraps were nestled in the weather beaten cracks as they had been for ages, provided comfortable spectacle seating as the lion and bat like creatures watched curiously, with onyx black eyes, as two odd races entered the dark lairs of the mountains belly. Their dun colored scorpion like hooked tails flicked casually from side to side as they spoke in throaty purrs and low growls about the strange beings below. Whoever they were, going inside the cursed mountain was a death sentence; it was going to be their funeral.

Dan'ruk stumbled in panic through the dank dark tunnels of the Stonetalon Mountains. He sprinted forward aimlessly; his arms at length feeling his way through the vast slimy rough hewn corridors that seemed to stretch on for miles and meander in any random direction it chose. Cold musty air rushed past his rough face, taking his exhausted breath away in ragged gasps.

Behind him the darkness skittered to life in feral fury, multitudes of large piercing rose colored eyes appeared in the blackness just feet away. Large spiders scurried angrily at the lost orc; furious of this alien being entering their thousand year old territory, and desecrating their ancient dwellings.

In his mad scramble to get away the young orc tripped on a protruding bump that rose from the floor, landing face first on the sticky web coated cavern ground with a dull thud. The fangs of one of the spider sank into his flesh, piercing his ankle, and attempting to drag him back to the rest of its kin. Dan'ruk gave a savage yell of pain, kicking and swatting at the beast to dislodge its fangs that seemed to bite through his bone as a sword through flesh.

The tiny spider babies skittered over his green sweat slicked body, taking what little air he had in his lungs away by swarming over his hulking form with their furry bodies to suffocate him. His mind was blank to all else but terror as he felt the tiny tormentors attempt to crawl up his nose and lodge in his mouth and ears. He couldn't formulate a single word to call upon the spirits as Thrall had taught him so many times. There was no time to think, just panic in the blackness. Dan'ruk gave one last weak attempt at freedom struggling to throw the burden of the spiders off his bulk before unconsciousness overtook him. The elder spiders hissed in victory as the orc went still, the largest swarming Dan'ruk's limp form, their fangs coated in bright olive hued saliva, eager for the taste of orc flesh.

Radiant snow white light suddenly pulsed in front of the beasts as if the sun had illuminated suddenly in their world of darkness dilating there numerous ruby pupils in agony of the blinding brilliance. With screeches of fear and rage, the spiders scrambled away to be rid of the overwhelming light and hide back into the dank shadows waiting for more foolish and less shiny prey.

The clank of armor and a gurgling swishing sound echoing around the small chamber slowly made their way to the limp orc. Jaina Proudmoore knelt down slowly, her water elemental gurgling and standing protectively by her side as she warily inspected the muscled creature lying before her. Ever since her forces had arrived on the wild shores of Kalimdor, they had been running into these orcs. Why was still a complete mystery, but after news of attacks on campsites especially from a group of ferocious ones that had decimated the first settlement, Jaina wasn't taking any chances.

"He still lives," She told her second in command Darren Silvercrest as two fingers felt a faint pulse under the marsh teal skin of its neck.

Darren Silvercrest was a lanky weed of a human. Black hair cropped in a military bowl like fashion, deep set turquoise eyes that were never still, and plently of sinew to complement his skinny frame. He had been a minor thief in Kul'tiras, having lived on the street all his life, and was only here now because Jaina had saved him from the gallows after he had broken into her fathers manor. Now he found himself risen from a street thief to a liutenant and spymaster half a world away from the only home he'd known.

Darren scowled and drew his sword, grimacing in the light of Jaina's glowing staff, his eyes glinting the steel of his blade, his voice just as cold as the air around them. "Then allow me to finish it."

"Darren!" Jaina cried outraged, her staff landing soundly on his chest as she halted him from taking another step. Her company grumbled at her, astounded, whispering the implications of keeping the orc alive.

Darren looked shocked, sheathing his sword with vigor. "You can not think of letting this…thing live!" He argued in disbelief a quivering finger pointing to the limp body. He had lived through the second war as a waif of a starving child, he had seen and heard the atrocites the orcs wrought in combat; how agonizing it was to be held in thier cruel hands as a sacrifce for their dark gods. In a way, he blamed them for how his life turned out.

The water elemental picked up the orc, his large green body shimmering behind the wet form of the elemental. Jaina turned to her scouts, her cobalt eyes hard as sapphires jewels as she addressed them in a strict military tone. "He might have useful information; he is coming with us, and will not be harmed. Are we understood?"

The hardened soldiers grumbling their yes' departing in either direction to let their commander through to lead the way back to their campsite, the orc in tow. Although proving time and time again to be a perilous leader, many of her forces still didn't understand her reasoning.

~8~8~

Dan'ruk awoke groggily, the side of his face on the cool rock floor. He opened his eyes slowly, as if peaking, and looking at the backs of guards silver plated armor, through strong wooden bars. Shifting stiffly to an upright position, he hid a smirk as the guards jumped at his movements obviously not expecting him awake so soon.

"The thing's awake," the guard on the right muttered through a trimmed beard, jerking his thumb back to the orc. "Best fetch Lady Proudmoore."

"Why do I have to go?" The left guard asked, brimming with indignation at his equal.

The right guard rolled his eyes, shoving the other, "Because we already rolled for the task, idiot."

Dan'ruk watched as the other guard left grumbling about weighted dice. Leaning his head up against the back of the bars, Dan'ruk sighed, and closed his eyes. He had been a fool to think he could scout out an entire cavern on his own. Thrall had taught him well, but sometimes youthful stupidity won the day. A childish desire to want to prove himself to his mentor who was both skilled in magic and brawn always lay beneath the surface of his reasoning. He fancied how proud Thrall would be if he had come back, shoulders squared, head held high as he informed the towering Farseer he had located the Oracle. Now all he had managed to do was get chased by a horde of angry spider, and captured by pinkskins. Some apprentice he was...

The orc was brought out his dismal reprieve by the incessant rapping of Jaina's staff on the rock floor of the immense cavern. Jaina gave the orc a quick, silent inspection as she neared the bars. Tribal marks of red and black etched the lines of his face encircling his tusk, midnight colored piercing dots for eyes, and muscles that looked like he could easily break her in two even though he did seem smaller than some orcs she had run across.

"Leg…better?" She asked in a pitiful spattering of orcish that came out slightly gargled. Back in Dalaran she remembered herself reading anything she could get her hands on especially the different cultures that now inhabited Azeroth. She had stumbled on a not very well written book on the guttural orcish language but had absorbed what she could, and could proudly admit she knew more about their speech than most people did.

Dan'ruk consciously moved a hand to his ankle, he flinched slightly when touching the pulsing purple swollen wound, but it did feel better. The place where the spider had bitten him only a two faint fang marks a permanent lesson learned from his folly. He cleared his throat looking at her officiously. "Yes, much better." He replied in common. His dialect was off, but the words seemed to make all in earshot stand stock still in surprise. He sounded tactful and cultured something the humans had not been expecting.

"You speak common." The sorceress finally said after finding her voice again and stopped blinking so rapidly in astonishment. She seemed mildly embarrassed having tried to communicate in his language before seeing if he knew common.

"Yes it is one of the many things our Warchief teaches us of your kind. And speaking of such," Dan'ruk added on before any could interrupt him. "I would like to speak with your Warchief, girl."

Squaring her shoulders Jaina glared down at the orc with an air of leadership. "I am Commander here." She replied immediately.

Was she serious? Surely not! The orc tilted his head back and roared in merriment, till tears rolled down his tattooed face. Surely humans weren't this stupid to put this thin wispy waif of a girl in charge, were they? The young orc flicked his hand dismissingly at her, like a child who had gotten in the way. "Be gone, girl, fetch your Warchief before you do something stupid. You, a leader? And I'm king of Azeroth!"

Unsheathing his blade, Darren strode up to the bars; his jaw set angrily, eyes flashing like fire. "I'll teach you to talk about our Lady Proudmoore, you beast!" He growled readying to plunge the steel through the bars and into the orcs bare tattooed chest.

"Darren, no!" Jaina cried out placing her hand firmly on Darren's own to stay the blow.

Before he could run the orc through, savage cries rent the air, around the caverns echoing like thunder come down to earth. Fire blared to life around the small human command site surrounding the tunnels in airy shades of red and yellows that cast shadows askew in the blackness. Guards quickly fell into position as Jaina shouted orders above the din of war cries. The soldiers formed a tight circle, their shields protruding out, and their swords glittering in the fire, ready to stab and slash once the shields went down. But looking all around at the many cavern entrances, it didn't take a mathematician to know the humans were heavily outnumbered and surrounded.

The fierce faces of orc warriors could be seen in the firelight. Looking eager and ready for the human's blood. They beat on their leather and wood tribal shields with the hilts of their weapons like the drumming of a heart, faster and faster. Shamans chanted and cast interrupting and anti magic spell totems which explained why the humans hadn't heard them in the first place. Still the shields were beat upon louder and louder till it was all but a roar like a crashing waterfall.

Jaina could see some of her people wavering at the noise and the sight. It was a barbaric spectacle, bloody cries echoing around the vast caverns, the hum like chanting of the shamans as they swayed trance like, and the rhythmic beating on the shields all worked to break down the spirits of the now surrounded humans. One poor fellow even dropped his shield, the clacking sound echoing pitifully, he was shaking so badly.

If they died here they would not be able to save the world from the terror coming. If they died here, Jaina instinctively knew every soul on Azeroth would as well. If they died here, she would never be able to save… _him._ She knew sometimes, despite all her fathers opinions, a good leader had to make those tough decisions even if it was the wrong one. She had to do what she thought was right, not what everyone expected her to, which was to give the order to fight and attempt to cut a path through the orcish press.

Looking over to Dan'ruk, she yelled above the furor, tactfully keeping the panic out of her voice. "Tell them we surrender!"

Dropping her staff numbly, she held her hands up behind her golden hair, motioning for her men to do the same. Some dropped their weapons all to quickly, while others threw them with animosity, sneers wrenched across their battle hungry faces calling her a coward. Darren looked at her in shock as if he couldn't comprehend the order, his swords tip only dipping slightly in confusion. "My Lady…"

"Do it." She hissed, her voice hard leaving no room for debate.

Dropping his swords with an ominous clack something between confusion, anger, and sadness shimmered in his eyes. Anger won the day; he snarled at her in disgust. "Perhaps the orc was right. You are no leader!"

Was he right?

"They surrender!" Dan'ruk roared in orcish, just as the humans had dropped their weapons. A part of him desired to see the humans overrun and slaughtered like cattle. A small bit of his blood hummed at the thought of seeing their blood spraying down like drizzle, and ripping their heads of their pink bodies with his bare hands, but Thrall had taught him differently, Thrall had taught sometimes an enemy alive was better than dead.

The blood lust was slow to die down, but eventually it did leaving dissatisfaction in its wake. The orc troops had wanted battle and blood, not herding surrendering humans like dangerous livestock. Soon an orc clad in fine bronzed though tarnished plate came forward barking out orders dangerously to grunts who jumped to the tasks immediately. Knocking the lock from the cage with a plated boot, the older orc laughed at Dan'ruk helping him up from the cage floor. "It seems even when you do something stupid good comes out of it. This is an excellent place to establish a head quarters. Thrall will be very pleased!"

"Thanks, Nazgrel, but I doubt Thrall will be very pleased with them." He jerked his thick thumb to the humans who'd been effectively surrounded and disarmed.

"I hope he lets us skewer everyone of those pigs through!" Nazgrel sniffed the air that was rife with human stench and spat distastefully.

Glaring at Jaina, Dan'ruk limped over to her until he stood face to face with the stalwart human woman. The memories of being in the internment camps came surging back up like an angry tide. Beatings at the hands of sentries, long hours toiling in the sun, and low rations of food all the while watching the guards share large meals that they ate right in front of their wretched captives to taunt them.

Hatred ran through his veins, fury fevered his thoughts. Angrily he backhanded her to the ground snarling savagely at her, his words dripping hate and malice. "I sincerely hope our Warchief has sense enough to rip you all to pieces!"

He spoke common so the soldiers could hear him. Jaina could feel them either shaking or tensing planning on a last strike. Neither would do, if they wanted to live through this. Ignoring the spinning in her head and the iron taste of blood in her mouth, she struggled to rise, "I would wish to speak with your leader in private." She requested bravely, not showing a hint of pain.

Laughing in her face, the apprentice shook his head as if she was stupid. "I can feel the force of your magic; it's extremely powerful. If it wasn't for our anti-magic totems I would be wary of you. Don't think for a second you're fooling me about how powerful you are! No way I'm letting you get in spitting distance near the Warchief."

"You have my word I will not use magic," She replied calmly, her sincerity genuine and plain upon her quickly bruising face.

Dan'ruk glared venomously at Jaina, not buying one word, even though the spirits were whispering she could be trusted, an oddity to say the least. "What good is the word of a human?" He spat angrily at her feet.

"I would only wish to ask him to spare my men. He may do what ever he desires with me." Jaina explained quietly lest her men hear her ludicrous words. If they had known what she was suggesting they would have gone berserk to try and get free. Her life over theirs, no, until…_if _she could get this 'Warchief' to agree to such terms she wouldn't tell them.

The gesture made the furious orc pause. His emotions were in frenzy, this girl reminded him of Thralls friend, Tari. Thrall had been inconsolable when he learned of her death. Dan'ruk had never seen him so venerable, or despondent. Perhaps this one would ease his tumultuous feeling about the kind human of his youth. He finally spoke in a low dangerous growl like a snapping guard dog letting someone in it didn't trust. "I will allow you an audience with our Warcheif; with a rope around your neck and a sword at your heart!"

Jaina sighed, her shoulders slumping tiredly, seemingly nonplused by the orcs threatening words. She nodded once in calm acquiescence, she had a meeting, which was something better than her head atop an orcish spear…at least for now it was.

Motioning to a grunt with the flick of the wrist, Dan'ruk ordered him to fetch the Warcheif and the rest of the army as he began to busy himself with the prisoners. He watched in grim satisfaction as the scout took off at a fast loping gait, like a wolf, wondering how Thrall would react to the capture of these humans.


	2. Well Met

Hours passed before the rest of the Horde forces arrived in steady streams of green muscle and plate regiments. The dull thumps of packs as they were thrown on the cavern floor and the harsh laughs aimed at the surrounded humans echoed throughout the vast cavern like roars of demons.

Jaina was put in the cage Dan'ruk had been held, her hands tied roughly behind her back with magic dampening iron shackles that dug cruelly into her wrists, and anti-magic totems pulsing all around her in some misty white light. Had circumstances been different she might have given the strange objects planted in the stone more study. What forces powered such magic? It was like nothing she'd ever seen before; they did not appear to be forced into the rocky cavern floor but sprung up like spring flowers from the earth, melding in perfect harmony with the cold stone.

The rest of the troops were huddled together under heavy guard far away from their beloved leader, though every so often Darren would sneak a furtive glance at her, either disdainfully or waiting for some kind of order as if the ever indomitable leader had an ace up her sleeve. He would get neither. Jaina, although she trusted Darren knew him to be impetuous, and head strong, thinking with his sword rather than his tactile brain. Hate had a way of doing that to people.

"The Warcheif has arrived!" A scout yelled out excitedly in his gruff voice before a war horn blared across the caverns announcing to those who had not heard that their king or 'Warchief' as Jaina had heard it, was nearing.

Leaning against the front wooden bars, Jaina watched curiously in the direction the cheers rumbled from. Weapons glistened in the orange-red glow of fires, and fists raised up to the sky as the orcs seemed to be chanting the human word for slave vigorously. The crowds of orc erupted into nearly zealot like fervor as their leader appeared, they pounded their huge calloused fists into their chest plates, straitening in salute as he walked amongst their ranks.

The Warcheif was taller than any orc she had ever seen. Scars crossed his rough face, making him look even fiercer than those he led. His skin was a bright green that contrasted greatly with his armor and the blackness around him with muscles rippling under his skin. Two thick black braids that almost reminded Jaina of rope lay draped over black and gold plated armor and a thick coarse dark beard that was trimmed short almost like the human fashion. Tusks that curved upward from the corner of his mouth gleaming like ivory, telling Jaina he was well kept. He looked the very epitome of a savage ruthless orc chieftain, whispered around the inn fires by bitter injured veterans who fought in the wars with the orcs, but his eyes were a sea blue that pierced her very soul like a shard of ice that chilled her, yet a kindness shimmered in them that warmed her heart in ways she couldn't explain.

The orc, Dan'ruk, strode proudly to him, offering a quick salute before speaking in orcish then pointing to the arch mage disdainfully. Thrall eyes drifted past the apprentices shoulder to stare at the human leader a thick brow arched in disbelief. Jaina stared back, unafraid, calm, but defiance practically rippling off her tiny form.

This was it? Thrall thought extremely surprised as he stared at the human. This was the peerless leader, whom, ever since Hellscream surprise attack on the first encampment had managed to counter every move, and produce genius attack plans around his bases? He wished to go talk to the strange woman immediately, it wasn't just the curiosity that she piqued, but he was strangely drawn to her like a moth dancing closer to a bright flame, knowing it would be hurt by the stinging tongue of fire but not able to help itself.

With a slight nod of his head, he shook it off, duty called to his kin first. Pointing out places for where newly erected tents would be held, and making sure the perimeter was secure, all the while dealing with coming and going scouts still searching for the mysterious oracle. Yes, there were already too many things to do at the moment than to stand there scrutinizing a caged human. Yet, Thrall couldn't help but shift his gaze every now an again to the calm woman leaning against her wooden prison. It suddenly dawned on Thrall; she was studying him as much as he wished to question her. Her blue eyes scanned everything he did in a precise thorough manner, judging his actions, his movement, the very inflection of his rumbling voice as he barked off orders to his men. By the time Thrall could only perceive as dusk, he couldn't stand it any longer, he had to talk with the strange human.

~8~8~

It was late before Thrall finally managed to wriggle away to near the humans prison. Even from a distance he could see that she had drifted off to sleep, her chest rising slowly, eyes shut almost peaceful. The totems surrounding the wooden bars added a misty white fog that hovered inches above the ground in a dreamy like state as he neared.

The arch-mage was curled up slightly against the back of the cage when she heard heavy footsteps pad toward her dully. Even without opening her eyes, from her light doze, she could tell it was the stride of a confident man, who was decisive, and strong. Her cobalt eyes flickered open slowly as she was met with the huge green creature standing inches away from the bars. Hurriedly wiping the last traces of sleep away from her mind, the arch mage braced herself to finally meet the Warchief.

Thrall noticed the arch mage didn't shrink in fear in the least as he towered over the cage bars. With some difficulty Jaina rose to face the Warchief, taking a few steps towards the front bars, yet only succeeded in reaching his barrel like chest. Their contrast was almost startling, in the flickering torch light; the large burly plate bound orc towering above her, arms rippling with muscle honed in battle, crossed dubiously looking down at her, his face etched in curiously, while the slender human looked up, hands bound behind, dirty blonde hair tumbling down her shoulders, a white and blue colored robe flowing down to the floor, with the middle open revealing her flat stomach, her face lined with the same curiosity.

Jaina couldn't help but think of a bards tale told to little ones about instances such as this, the evil monster capturing the woman and stealing her away until some brave knight or paladin came riding on a glorious charger to her rescue, then they'd ride away into the glorious sunset leaving the monster dead in its lair. But this wasn't a bard's tale, this was real, she and her soldiers were half a world away from their home, miles below the surface world, and she was completely at the orcs mercy.

All was silent for a moment as Thrall looked over Jaina; now close enough to get a good look at her there was something about her that made his skin prickle. He couldn't quite place what it was, an air that seemed to emanate from the woman, calm, yet powerful, but when her eyes met his they took his breath away. His heart drummed a bit faster in his barrel like chest as he stared hypnotized by her sapphire orbs.

"Who are you?" Thrall asked quietly, it sounded more akin to a growl, his eyes searching the mages intently.

"I was about to ask the same." Jaina replied evenly.

Thrall couldn't resist a small smile, at the subtle air of defiance the human exuded. "You do not appear, to be in any condition to ask questions, Lady."

"That is true." She conceded with a nod. "I am all to aware I am at your mercy, sir…?"

"Warchief Thrall." Thrall filled Jaina in dutifully. His eyes widened slightly and he cursed himself quietly that he had answered one of her questions unwittingly. He was supposed to be the interrogator, not she. There was something about this woman that made him let his guard down an open. A key which she seemed to have obtained from the moment he spoke.

"I see I will have to tread lightly around you," Thrall chuckled humorlessly. "But since I have told you my name I believe you owe yours."

Jaina offered him a furtive nod. "Jaina Proudmoore."

"And you are commander of these human forces?" He asked, his hand swaying out to the humans halfway across the cavern.

"As much as you are Warcheif of your forces." Jaina replied, sidling up closer to the wooden bars.

Choosing a different tactic, Thrall frowned leaning an arm against the bars shrugging his broad shoulders carelessly. "I see straight talk is not one of your strong suits already. Perhaps some of your men will be willing to talk after I've loosened their tongues." Barbarism, he had found, could be a very useful tool when dealing with humans who thought them heartless killers who would do anything to achieve their goals. Although he had no intention of harming them without cause; she, he figured, wouldn't know that.

Jaina went rigid as if struck; worry streaking across her eyes, before being veiled by strong will and neutral features on her smooth face. "My men will never tell you anything." She answered certain her tones a curios mix of sadness and pride. "They are loyal beyond reason. But as their commander, I would not see them harmed because of their loyalty to me. As long as they are unharmed ask your questions and I will answer."

"Truthfully?" Thrall asked dubious, arching a thick black eyebrow.

She dipped slightly to him in a small bow. "You have my word." She promised.

Thrall believed her, there was an aura about Jaina that reminded him of Tari, and that made him all the more wary. Memories of the sisterly human always writing to him and telling him news that he eagerly clung to with his uncorrupted soul were flashing around in his head. He could almost hear her soft tones as they might pass outside as he was being taken to training, or smell the Goldthorn scented perfume she sprinkled on every lilac colored letter he received in his cell under the manor of Blackmoore. Although this woman wasn't quite like Tari, he couldn't help but thinking of the kind human. Shaking his head slightly, he ordered himself to focus on the task at hand before strolling down memory lane with thoughts of the bubbly, always cherry human he had known in Durnholde.

He didn't desire to talk to Jaina in this setting, in the open with her behind wooden bars, arms tied behind her, dangerous people that could be listening in to every word they uttered.

"Do I also have your word that if I release you from this cage, you'll not try any tricks to escape?" He asked, his voice rumbling low like thunder.

Jaina was silent for a moment, pondering the decision. True, the chains around her wrist were magic dampening in nature, but Jaina did not take her promises lightly. If she swore a promise not to escape, and her men found a way free, she would be obliged to stay behind. And yet, if she didn't there was no telling what this orc might do to them. Orcs, she had learned through her life, in her father's house, and the battle weary kingdoms that dotted the land were not creatures of mercy. They showed no kindness and their torture methods had been renowned in the second war. Hooks and jagged saws permanently stained in sticky crimson liquid and rusted by blood, entrails hung gaily from rafters like winter's Veil decorations, the acrid stench of pots filled with bubbling and boiling flesh. No, she couldn't risk such fates to her loyal forces, but Jaina got the feeling he wasn't as devious as he appeared. From her many years in courts and her family life, she had long ago learned how to read a mask of another, even if it was an orc.

"Very well," She nodded slowly excepting his terms.

Producing a key for the new thick lock put in place by the orcs, he unlocked the cage door with a soft click, allowing Jaina to walk out. She was surprised when he unlocked the magic dampening shackles as well letting them drop to the stone with a loud clang that seemed to reverberate even louder than normal. Her wrist felt brittle, like dried twigs as Thrall had undid her chains. He had never known how big he was until he felt her slender wrists in his calloused hands. He had to force himself not to tremble and run his thumb across the bruising flesh, but why; why did her feel the need to touch her?

Jaina rubbed her blue hued bruised wrist looking up at Thrall in shock and confusion as she felt her magic humming through her veins again.

"I expect you to keep your word." Thrall informed her casually hiding a smile. It was always better to do the unexpected, to keep people off their feet. He didn't tell her that he had spells that would prevent her from escaping if she decided to break her promise; but he had a small inclination; this woman would keep her word no matter the circumstance. Jaina flashed him a grim assuring smile and Thrall led the way to the orcish command tent. The command tent was crafted with hides from different beasts, all different colors painted with red dye, or blood, in swirling enchantments to keep the place safe while the Warchief resided there. To Jaina, used to cloth tents, or buildings of white stone, it seem very primitive to her. The tent was filled with supply boxes and crates, a name or title scrawled across the front in orcish and a few of which that were serving as a table and seating.

Candles flicked dangerously close to the dry wood of the crates, as if stretching with all their might to devour the dry kindling it desired so. Thrall pulled out a crate for her and Jaina arched an eyebrow at the courtesy before taking a seat.

"The first thing I want to know, Lady Proudmoore, is what humans are doing in a subterranean mountain on a different continent?" Thrall asked before hunkering down on another crate across from the mage.

Jaina folded her hands in her lap, adopting a neutral expression she had long been acquainted with at court. Politics, although she detested them, were an essential practice to learn when growing up the high court of Kul'tiras, and constantly making visits to the other kingdoms. Her peach toned face became a blank, unreadable page as she spoke firmly, but not angrily. "Since we are both in a subterranean mountain, I believe my answer would be the same as yours."

"Stop talking in riddles, speak plainly," Thrall growled as he picked up a sheaf of reports. Although he did enjoy a good game of politics, he didn't desire to flex his intellectual muscles just yet, until he saw what he was up against with the strange female.

"A man who could turn into a raven came to me, saying that a great evil such as our world has never seen is coming. He pleaded with me to bring forces over to Kalimdor, so that an oracle would reveal what's about to happen." She explained, in assured tones, as if her answer didn't sound totally insane.

Thrall might have called her crazy, if the same hadn't happened to him. His blood froze at the mention of the strange human prophet who had come to him in a sweat fevered dream and then in the waking hours. Was it all a trap to draw to major forces under a mountain; and then what? Sick them on each other like rabid dogs?

"And you believed him?" Thrall snorted incredulously trying to mask his thoughts.

Jaina smiled, having read the knowing look across his face, plain as day, before he could mask it away a few seconds to late behind another façade of false dubiousness. "As much as you did." She replied evenly allowing a small smirk to edge her full lips.

She was perceptive, Thrall made a mental note of that fact as he grimaced at her words. "It doesn't really matter what you came for now, does it? You're still my captive." Thrall pointed out callously.

"Why make us captives when we could be allies, Warchief?" Jaina asked slyly, taking up the cup of deal maker as she had seen so many times at court. The ones who hammered out the agreements from kingdom to kingdom, the persuaders who always approached with a warm smile and a desire to win burning bright in their eyes.

The Farseer folded his hands in front of him thoughtfully. "What do you mean?" Thrall asked intrigued. Could she be asking what he thought she was about to ask?

"We are both looking for the same thing, this Oracle in the mountain pockmarked with vast caverns that can stretch on for miles or more. It's obvious neither of us have had much luck, so why not band together to find it." Jaina explained.

Thrall leaned back slightly, impressed by Jaina's bold plan, he chuckled slightly. "And how do you plan explaining to your forces they _might_ be working along side orcs?"

"Exactly how you plan on explaining it to yours." She replied tactfully, in her ever calm demeanor.

There is was again, to Thrall's annoyance, that comparison; she had done it three times already, and every time she had a point. They were both doing the same thing, did that make them the same even though she was human and he was orc?

"It's risky." Thrall admitted in a deep rumble of his voice, his tone was not a yes to her plan but it certainly wasn't a no. He was still being reserved on the matter. "If I give your forces their weapons, armor, and you back, what's to stop you from turning on us say in the middle of the night? When are sentries are lax, or have our backs turned?" Thrall asked.

"The fact that their commander is your prisoner who has given her word not to escape under any circumstances, and will report to you should anything goes amiss between the two forces immediately." She stated firmly. Her lips dipped into a slight frown, her tone melancholy. "Trust me, when I say I give my word I do not back out upon it."

Thrall snorted incredulously, leaning backwards. "You have so much faith in your forces that they will over look decades of hate and not stick you in a no way out position?"

Jaina smiled widely, giving a nod, the melancholy vanishing like a ghost. "I trust them with my life." She had to.

This was unheard of, as Thrall knew, never at all his life in Durnholde had he read or learned about humans and orcs rallying themselves so quickly, or even at all! Such things were not done; they were bitter enemies who battled mercilessly no matter the situation. If fire rained down around their heads they'd still be locked in combat, totally blind to all else. It put a little more reality to the threat the prophet spoke of that was creeping to Azeroth like an ominous shadow.

Thrall grimaced as he leaned backward, crossing his arms though not hostility, but more in contemplation and sizing the bright blue and white robed woman sitting in front of him up again. "I must admit this is strange; not even one day after I've captured your forces, and we are talking of an alliance when I don't even know who the blazes you are or if you can be trusted. It's all to sudden, to quick; I am sure as you probably know that can be a devastating thing in war."

"But we're not at war." Jaina countered politically.

Thrall also noted she had every indication of a noble politician which made him entrenched in the mystery of Jaina Proudmoore even more. "True, I to agree this has happened at a ridiculously sudden pace, but given the atrocities that are stirring the world we don't have time to ramble along with weeks of debate and pacts. The forces looming to devour our world won't wait for us to sign agreements. My sworn word and a handshake is all I can offer at this point."

The Warchief stared at her critically for a moment his azure eyes like flecks of cold gems as he once again judged her sincerity. Unless, she was the most dedicated hunter sent by the Alliance to track down the stolen ships, or the most talented manipulator he had ever come across her, words made sense. Why? Because they sounded like something Thrall would have said himself? The sudden revelation sent a tingle down Thrall's spine, but he didn't let it show.

"If that is all you have to offer, then I will gladly accept, Lady Proudmoore." He replied, his tone carefully neutral. "It makes sense that we band together looking for the same thing. So I will concede your help under a few conditions. I want all your military strategies, plans, maps, ration, ECT delivered to my men. I am also very curious about you, lady Proudmoore. I desire to speak to you more in private."

Before Jaina could blink his hand came across the makeshift table, lying on her shoulder heavily. She could feel his calloused fingers grip her shoulder firmly but not to hurt, and a sudden shiver, not in fear, she couldn't explain resonated through her body like a chill. He looked upon her with those stunning cobalt eyes suddenly very cold, colder even than the snowy peaks of Dun Morogh in a deep winter, a cold that could kill. "But, you are still my prisoner. If you betray my trust…" He let the threat linger in the dry cool air.

Nodding grimly, she never wavered from his gaze though Goosebumps prickled the back on her neck. "I understand."

In an instant the cold had abated like the first day of spring, his blue eyes were warm once more, filling Jaina with warmth as well.

As they both rose, Jaina plucked her staff up from the side of the table, hefting it with a practiced knowing skill. The smooth silver gleaming metal of her staff, gave out its own reassuring tingle like approval knowing she had solved one problem in a host of many. "Out of curiosity, what would have happened if I had chosen to fight instead of surrender?" She asked tactfully, sounding like an offhanded question.

She was looking for support for her decision, Thrall knew instantly a way she could explain to her people why she chose to lay down her arms and except defeat without so much as a whimper. He sniffed once, before squaring his shoulders and walking beside Jaina. "They would have been slaughtered." He replied bluntly with out turning to face her. "Even though I can estimate our losses would have been dire, your people would have been nothing more than blood stains on the rock."

The sorceress only replied was a faint shiver that traveled down her body, her mouth a somber grimace.

Darren paced the makeshift pen that had been erected for the human forces in the mountain. Some were as nervous as the second in command, they flicked tiny flecks of dirt in between the guard's plated boots glaring at the orcs, while other slept nervously or tense if accepting their fate and an orcish sword would run them through at any moment. The orc guards surrounded them heavily in a wall of hulking green bodies and heavy black armor that would take a giants fist to dent, led by the one Jaina had brought with them only days before. Dan'ruk as he was called. Darren decided he hated that particular orc with a passion; he had nearly leapt on him when he struck a defenseless Jaina to the ground.

Jaina. The name brought a stab of worry to Darren's gut that wrenched inside his clenching belly. What had they done with the arch mage? Interrogation, torture, or something even more devious? Would they be able to hear her agonizing screams over their devilish laughter as they peeled her flesh away?

"Lady Proudmoore…" Someone called from the crowd of prisoners almost like coming out of a dream and she was only a figment of a weary mind.

Darren whirled around so fast it made him dizzy his heart lurching in his chest. An orc, perhaps a whole two heads taller than Jaina walked beside the arch mage who didn't appear bound or harmed in any way save for the ugly bruise on her cheek dealt out by the orc Dan'ruk. The soldiers jumped up and the orc guards clutched their weapons tighter, preparing for a fight if the soldiers tried to rally to their leader. They knew all to well how inspired a leader could make them push themselves to unbelievable battles, and drive them to do the impossible.

All was silent for a moment as Jaina looked around the ranks making sure nothing was amiss, no hidden weapons ready to shank into an orcs side, or rush about to ensue. When all ears were upon her she spoke regally, using her years of practice in royal courts to help strengthen her usual quiet voice.

"Soldiers of Lorderan, our search for the oracle continue we will ally with the orcs who are also here searching for the oracle."

Almost simultaneously, loud arguments were shouted out against such a decree, fists rose in the air, faces reddened to beet like hues, scowls on every face, and angry curses thrown at her like rotten fruit at a criminal. Guards tensed for a fight, as a dangerous air filled the cave. There weapons brandished for a moment when a human went to far, and the killing spree would begin.

"Order in the ranks!" Jaina shouted out firmly, slamming her staff against the hard stone making it echo across the corridors ominously, the sound demanding silence with out protest.

The quiet was almost disconcerting a few people grumbled but most had fallen silent, seemingly ashamed of their outburst to a superior commander. Jaina looked them over again sternly before speaking. "This is not up for debate. We _will _be helping one another; as your commander I ask that you trust me on this."

Thrall was more than surprised when the human turned to one another grumbling amongst themselves but really hadn't brooked any more arguments. Could it be they were complying? Could it be that her word alone was enough for them? Who exactly was this woman? The curiosity about Jaina grew ten fold in Thrall's mind as she watched her speak to her forces.

Making a motion with his hand towards the guards, he spoke in his resounding bass in orcish, telling his forces about the drastically sudden change in events. There wouldn't be a better time, he could see; take them off guard before they could react just as her forces.

The guards all turned to him simultaneously as if on a cue, jaws dropping as if he was crazy. Work with humans, perish the thought! But there was no arguing with the Warcheif, not with that well known glint in his eyes that displayed his power in magic and blade. All orcs were given a right to argue the decree, under terms of battle of course, yet no one desire to go toe to toe with the tactile orc who had displayed his prowess to many times to count.

Walking to where her men were being held Jaina smiled courteously to the guards as they moved aside slowly, glances of hate dancing in their eyes as they shuffled away. The sorceress' eyes roved the mass of soldiers coming to Darren who looked more shocked than them all. With a beckoning gesture from the arch-mage he scrambled to her side, heedless of dignity eager for an explanation. They were silent as Jaina and he walked slowly to where her men's weapons were stashed. Swords, axes, bows, maces, and shields all thrown together in a silver heap of metal and death.

Collecting his twin blades instantly the spy master whispered to the sorceress as he buckled his sword belt around his waist, revenge dripping with every word. "What's the plan, a sneak attack, all out assault? When do we hack these monsters to bits?"

"We're going to help them find the oracle," she replied calmly, reiterating her plan.

Darren cocked his head to one side slightly, looking at Jaina as if she was insane. He had thought her words a ruse to deal with the slow barbarians. They have strength, but Darren was a firm believer it superior human tactics to win the day.

"My Lady, you could not have made plans with theses…savages. It's best to attack them before they decide to attack us!"

Jaina sighed; covering her face with her palm, some times she wondered what would have happened if she let the young man swing by his neck in the market square. "I give the commands here, Darren, and I'm commanding that there be peace between us and them till the prophet is found. If you decide to disobey, you can leave."

Running his hands through his hair, he sighed in exasperation throwing his hands up. "Why don't we leave? If this prophet came to orcs as well, surely we should have nothing more to do with it."

"You can leave, and every other soldier who would not put their differences aside for a little while to save their world!" Jaina snapped fervently, her mouth a thin line of anger eyes glinting furiously.

Looking at the soldiers gathering their weapons, Darren watched as they hefted their familiar weapons, grinning at having a blade back in their hands ands swinging them deftly to get the feel back for their swords. He spoke softly ashamed almost as he basked in Jaina's anger. "And if the majority agrees we should leave?"

She paused, forcing the anger to ebb away from her. Control was the key. "Then you have my leave to go." Jaina confirmed with a soft sigh, looking over her forces as they finished gathering their gear, and looked around suspiciously.

Turning to her a hint of worry splashed across his face at her words, his brow furrowed in confusion. "What of you?"

"I am the Warchief's prisoner." She shrugged somberly her gaze still trailing around her soldiers as they milled around, strapping the last of the leather ties on their blue and white armor, now looking much more confident around the orcs. "The deal is my life for everyone else's."

Sighing, the lieutenant laid his head on the cool rock wall, closing is eyes he could feel his pulse pounding behind the turquoise orbs at her revelation. "Then we all stay. Your men are loyal; no one will leave you here with them as an orcish war trophy. I don't even want to imagine what they'd do to you." He gave a slight smile that tipped the edges of his lips. "Besides, Sarah would kill me if you didn't come back safely. Can you imagine her screaming bloody murder at me and swinging that useless butter knife she calls a sword around trying to lop off my head if I told you we had left you down here with orcs? No, we stand beside you, milady."

Her shoulders visibly relaxed at Darren's words, the last 10 minuets had been a hard gamble. Darren was headstrong, and many of the soldiers were his supporters; if Jaina's reasoning wasn't quite understood, the spy master had a knack for explaining it in much more simplistic fashion. If Darren had chosen to leave, she was certain so would have her forces leaving her at the hands of the orcs under the vast mountain. But now with her forces staying it could work; this weak, fragile, alliance that hung by a hair might hold. It just might pull through. Hopefully…


	3. Hatreds

The huge cavern that sat in the middle of the vast underbelly of Stonetalon was more than big enough for the two camps of humans and orcs to be slightly separate. But as the days dragged on, Jaina wasn't sure if it was big enough for two highly hateful races in such close proximity. Glances like knives radiated at all hours of the day towards one another, red against blue, human against orc. A hand always rapping against the hilt of a weapon, one eye left open when sleep washed over them. The tension seemed to rumble faintly like the beginning of a storm at sea; ominous gray clouds of waryness rolling in and the jagged licks of lightening conjured of mistrust and hatred about to bear down on the two armies.

Kaz and Bron, two grunts, warmed their trembling numbed hands by the huge orcish bonfire. The embers flared up like tiny soft glowing stars before drifting away to darkness as Kaz threw another log onto the already blazing flames swirling the orange flecks up again in a small flurry. They muttered of the day's searches bitterly through chattering teeth, tired of being in a damp cold cave that yielded nothing but dead ends and beasts ready to leap out and kill from the blackness with teeth and claw.

Armor clanked across from them as two marines entered the massive chamber from the other end of the vast network of caverns. The pair of humans headed quickly to their own bonfire, in determined chilled strides. Their own brightly glowing blaze seemed to be in competition with the orcish counterpart flickering parallel to their own. Quickly fiddling with the leather straps to rid themselves of their steel blue armor, they shed their ice cold plate with alacrity, to careless and cold to worry where it landed.

The marines huddled close to the fire muttering about much the same as the orcs had. Darkness that was thick and stifling, red eyes peering at them with hungry malice, and a constant feeling of being watched that pricked the back of the neck, and made you clench your weapon with all your might to keep your hands from shaking in sheer terror.

"Look at those pitiful little pink skins, Bron," Kaz spat, his brown eyes narrowed disdainfully. Despite the Warchief's decree they work with the weakling pig's animosity and hatred could not be ordered to be forgotten. Like the bonfires, the flames of hatred never subsided to glowing embers but pierced the soul with is wrathful luminance devouring all in its wild blaze.

Sparing a glance at the miserable and frigid humans practically hunched over the crackling flames, Bron laughed. "Pink? No, look at them they've turned blue with the cold, weaklings! I'm surprised they all haven't shriveled up into pale skinned husks!"

The two grunts roared in amusement their laughter like the squealing of new born piglets causing the two marines to look their way. Staring at the two grunts with age old hate, one grimaced and made an obscene gesture with his hand towards the pair of giggling orcs. You didn't have to speak common to know what it meant; an insult carried over any language barrier faster than anything else.

Snarling savagely, all humor suddenly melted away from the orcs, like snow in Tanaris. Their eyes narrowed hatefully, muscles jerking in their hulking frames as the tell tale signs a fight was about to ensue. Baring their yellowing tusks, and brandishing their blood stained axes the two grunts raced to face the marines, who were on their way to them as well. The rapid clanking of plate boots on the stone floor, seemed to ring ominously, drawing looks from both camps at there noise.

Kaz pointed a calloused finger to one of the humans, his growling tone accusing and challenging. One of the humans spat at his feet, his eyes flashing angrily in a wordless acceptant to the orcs challenge. Angry words that neither could understand were dallied back and forth as the four ran to meet each other in frustrated combat.

Spittle flecked Bron's thick ugly lips as he screamed black orcish curses at the humans. He twirled his massive axe expertly mentally preparing the place to sink the gleaming steel in the humans soft flesh when the marine drew the first blow, tackling the orc with a fierce vigor that knocked the air out of Bron in one giant whoosh. The pair went down in a blur of green and pale flesh, mingled with the vibrant red streaks of blood as they pounded away at one another with numbed hands that shook with cold and fury.

~8~8~

Jaina sat alone in the human command tent, marking more tunnels off that lead to no where but death. Conjured mage light floated above her in soft radiance that added a calming glow to the blue dyed tent that was rife with writing implements. She couldn't afford true candles with all the dry paper heaped in the tent. Just one spark and the whole place would be ablaze with flame that would engorge itself upon the precious maps that held the routes of the honeycombed caverns.

Rolls of blank scrolls and hurriedly scrawled maps sat in precarious pyramid style stacks on the brown oaken table before her, looking ready to tumble away at any moment. Ink stains pooled around the edges of the maps, silver ink pots, and Jaina's black stained fingertips as she wrote. Her hand scratched in black X's, on the primitive quickly crafted maps with her white griffon feather quill, a little harder than she had to in stifled frustration. The Oracle was no where to be found! Every cavern was searched through intently twice over, regular sentries sent to them every day, an eye in all corners, no stone left unturned by the vigilant, desperate, forces that hunted for this so called Oracle like Gilnean blood hounds after a fox!

Picking up a half empty inkpot she threw it at the indigo tent canvas in anger. She watched in exasperation as the black liquid smeared across the tent fabric in sharp onyx streaks that bled through the blue canvas. It was hopeless! A weary sigh passed the sorceress' lips as she put the quill down in another nearly drained ink pot, her delicate shoulders were slumped almost in defeat as she put her forehead on her forearms that lay on the table. Her head was pounding in dulled agony like waves beating upon a jagged shoreline when she heard the shouting echoing from outside.

Perking her head up, the sorceress became instantly alert, all disparaging thoughts vanishing away like phantoms of the mind. Throwing back the tent flaps, Jaina raced out, her cobalt eyes wide and alert scanning everything at once. She immediately saw the fight ensuing by the orcish bonfire; two orcs and humans pummeling one another with bleeding knuckles, their weapons lying on the cold ground forgotten as they beat upon each other savagely. Blood poured from broken noses and mouths filled with now broken teeth, eyes blackened and puffed out ridiculously in red and splotchy black hues.

Many were gathering to watch on both sides, like a storm about to break. They were forces with grudges and armed with their preferred weapons glinting in the fire light, their eyes trying to read the fight to see who had the upper hand and who needed aid.

Grimacing, Jaina clutched her staff as her azure eyes scanned the spectacle; she knew from experience, watching would soon turn into friends, then allies, then everyone joining the needless brawl to vent their frustrations. Blood would be carelessly shed, random people maimed, and perhaps lives needlessly lost to the blind burning hatred that fired through their veins.

From the corner of her eye, she saw Thrall making his way to the fight as well, his hammer lying loosely but a the ready in his hands, a disapproving scowl upon his face. How would he react to the fight? Would he join; would he blame her men and ask for their heads? A million fears stabbed at Jaina in the instant as she was once again reminded just how hard Thrall could force her hand since their first agreement had been forged in her desperate attempt to spare her men's lives.

Shaking the thought away the sorceress muttered a well known spell she used on drunken foot soldiers when they became too rowdy. In an instant the four brawling warriors began to shrink and transform, the four looked to one another warily before a flash of gray cloud appeared around them. The orcs gasped in shock while many of the humans chuckled and rolled their eyes in annoyance as four wooly sheep dumbly wandered the stone floor. Their weapons and armor surrounded them in little blood soaked piles as they strayed back and forth in confusion.

Her sapphire eyes flickered back to where Thrall had been standing, trying to read his face on what she had done, only to see him tuck back into his command tent once more, his guard standing like solid stone stoic statues in front of the tent flaps.

Turning to Darren sternly, half disappointed he did nothing to halt the fight, she pointed to the two sheep wandering around the blue and white Alliance tabards that were stained with gore. "Hold those miscreants until I return, and find some orc, perhaps Dan'ruk to deal with the other two."

"And where are you going?" Darren asked, cocking an eyebrow at the Arch-mage, though his lips were turned into a sneer at the mention of Dan'ruk.

She didn't reply but slowly made her way to the orcish encampment, her robes swirling around her ankles as she marched determinedly to see the Warchief. The guards at Thrall command tent stepped aside in one crisp simultaneous movement from the tent flaps allowing her passage to their king with out question. She faltered slightly behind the backs of the hulking guards but not yet inside the tent; he had been expecting her, Jaina knew now. What would he say?

Taking a deep breath she braced herself and entered the tent with a calm grace. Standing in front of the make shift desk, looking him strait in the eye she managed a small smile. "Warchief." She greeted pleasantly.

Getting up he pulled a crate-stool out for the sorceress beckoning her to sit. "Please have a seat, Lady Proudmoore."

He smiled inwardly, pleased that she had came, even though he knew it was probably his men's fault. It meant that she was true to her word, no matter how trivial the circumstance. A fight had ensued, and here she was, just as she had promised. It was an endearing trait he admired in the strong female. The strong…_pretty_…female. Thrall rebuked himself instantly as the word popped into his head. Orcs were not supposed to find humans attractive, even if he had lived his entire life around them. To be sure, most of the time he did not find them much to look at, their eyes were too small and ratty, and they seemed to be like bendy twigs compared to a sturdy orc female. But Jaina…Jaina was different. Pushing the thought away in a sudden panic as to where it was leading, he focused on the task at hand to drown away the troubling thought.

Adopting a somber grimace the sorceress gazed at him evenly. "We will have to do something about keeping are men under control, Warchief."

He was surprised but kept his face pleasantly neutral, she didn't even bring up the fight. Did she, after a few weeks, know him so well? Did she know that he too knew the fights steamed from frustration and hard forged hatred that even their commands couldn't keep from surfacing?

"That will require us shifting through years of death and hatred." He replied sullenly sinking into his chair with a growling sigh. His calloused hand ran over his face before pinching the bridge of his nose to ward off a coming headache.

Jaina sighed tiredly placing a hand under her chin as she slumped forward, "Unless you know a way to wipe people memories, we do have quite a task before us."

They laughed quietly at the small joke that slowly transformed into awkward silence that resounded across the tent louder than their combined laughter. Should they be this comfortable with one another? Was this ease they felt together natural for human and orc? It suddenly dawned on them both that they were not showing themselves as hardened, leaders who could not be brought down by any discrepancy, but letting their actions and the very sighs that emanated from their lips testify that they to were at their wits end. In a word, they were being the anathema of politics- open, and truthful.

"Perhaps if we display to them there is no animosity between us that might soften the fights a bit," The mage suggested after a moment. She couldn't help but smile a second time as Thrall's face furrowed into a slight puzzled state, that made her want to giggle. But no, she couldn't possibly…

Folding his hands together the Far-seer nodded sagely. "What did you have in mind, Lady Proudmoore?"

"Well, we could start by showing support for each other; openly agreeing with one another decisions, asking one another lieutenants questions, and so on." With a wave of her hand, she grinned lightheartedly making Thralls heart skip though he did not know why. Perhaps because he had never seen her show anything but poise and tactics. "And enough standing on formality, in private you may call me Jaina."

"And me Thrall," He smiled as well; he was growing to respect the tactical sorceress more and more. "Integrating our defensive buildings so that patrols have to meet, might work as well…"

~8~8~

The talks lasted well into what the two leaders could only perceive as night. Candles had burned down to their nubs, the wax drying in pools on the table and floor, and the change of guard in both camps all told the tale night had fallen on the world above.

By the time Jaina returned to her camp the watch fires were burning brightly, and guards yawning trying to stay awake at their posts, though coming to rapt attention when she passed them to go to her private tent.

A plate of food sat cold to the touch on a small old dented shield serving as a tray as Jaina entered her tent. Half charred meat floating in thick brown gravy congealed like blood, and bread even harder than normal tossed to the side. The sorceress smiled fondly as she looked at the plate, thinking of her friend on the world above with the rest of her men. Sarah had been known to drag her away from the command tent by her ear making her take a few bites of food and calm her over heated brain. More than once Jaina had gone a day without stopping to eat or barely drink.

Picking up the hunk of hardened bread, the Arch-mage nibbled on in sparingly like a rat with a crumb, while throwing off her more bulky cloth armor of shoulder wear and shoes. She had long ago learned emergencies could conjure up at any moment, it was best not to be caught in your undergarments when they did. She sunk to her cot wearily, yet also exuberant at the progress she was making with the orcish Warcheif. Who knew an orc could be so ingenious!

It was the first night in more than six months she hadn't thought about _him…_Arthas, his memory haunting her weary mind at what he had done at…No she refused to fall into that entangled web, not tonight, not when things were just beginning to go right, a glimmer of hope in the dismal darkness.

Instead, her mind wandered to the two miscreant she had ordered Darren to hold. The polymorph would have ebbed away now but she was far to tired to rise and deal with them for their brawl. A cold night shivering in a holding cell might do them good anyway. It might teach them to stay by their own bonfires next time. Sighing the exhausted sorceress marked one more problem to deal with on the morrow in her weary mind.

As sleep began to cast its shadow upon her, she decided today hadn't been so bad. True, a fight had erupted but a glimpse into the creature known as Thrall had been worth it. For a few hours he had been open, sharing his opinion, listening to hers, commenting and tweaking clearly displaying his expertise. Yes, it had been worth a few miscreants breaking their teeth and blackening their eyes. As her sapphire orbs flickered and her breathing slowed she finally fell into what might have been called a peaceful sleep.

How restless she would have been if she knew how much worse morning would come…


	4. Death and Hope

_A/N: Thanks for the wonderful reviews! I meant to post this yesterday but an issue with log-in was prohibiting me :/_

**~8~8~**

The first thing that woke Jaina was the foul stench of burning flesh and a shaking so violent she thought the mountain itself was about to collapse upon their heads in heaps of jagged stone at any second. She sprang out of the hard cot leaving her discarded clothing from the previous night forgotten on the ground and scrammbled out the tent in a flurry of crumpled robes and cloak; her staff held tightly in her grip.

She gasped and took a step back in shock at the sight that met her out in the open cavern. Everything was in chaos, Horde was fighting Alliance and vice versa, thick smoke billowed from tents, crates, and bodies littered on the cold stone in every direction. In the air of the high cavern an aberration, a nightmare clawed up from the nether itself soared. A black dragon circled around the caverns rounded ceiling, its breath demolishing anything in its scorching path of fiery destruction.

Jaina stood with her head craned upward looking at the scaled beast numbly, her jaw swinging open in terror. The caverns and corridors were certainly big enough to let such a monster as this dragon soar freely with plenty of space to ride upon the currents that hissed through the air vents. Jaina could see the eyes of the beast though the gray smoke churning from its flaring nostrils almost made it almost impossible. They were shrouded in a milky white, as if it was blind, relying only on the sense of smell and taste as it tracked through the vast underground. Perhaps it was the heir of some long ago clutch left behind from escaping to the surface world now to big and probably to comfortable and safe to try and depart from the mountain underbelly which it dwelled.

In retrospect Jaina should have seen that this particular cavern was a dragons den, those smooth black discs they had taken for strange occurrences of the rock, now resembled the scales of the beast, long scars in the walls she had taken for erosion now resembled claw marks etched out by the ivory white talons of the monster. She had never seen a dragon before, though she had heard in legends past of those with great magic's that guarded the world.

A stab of guilt hit the sorceress in her belly like a knife, in a way this was her fault, yet how could she have known she had ordered camp erected in its lair? For it certainly did seem like its home, and now it was back from its long sojourn to find two races camped in its den!

As Jaina's head swiveled from side to side, she didn't know what to do first; detach fighting persons or attack the monster that swooped down death from above. There seemed nothing plausible to do but watch it all burn away to nothingness, and with it, Azeroth itself in one fail swoop from the onyx monstrosity.

Thrall came up with the answer that pierced the disparity that threatened to overwhelm the sorceress, as a lightening bolt struck the beast on the left side of its scaly body. The sparks bounced off its oily black hide like a children's sparkler, illuminating the chaotic scene below in a flurry of harmless flecks of silver. If that magic even hurt the gargantuan beast it didn't show, not even a dull roar of pain, but it was an attempt.

Jaina immediately saw the problem that plagued those attacking the dragon; no one could truly reach the beast. Arrows bounced off his thick hide and some spells fell out of reach, or like Thrall's, lost some of their potency on the long travel it took such spell to reach the flying creature. It suddenly occurred to the sorceress that the two factions were blaming the dragon on one another! What better way to end a foe than black death from above. Hatred once again tore them apart from the foe that would destroy them all if they refused to unite.

She had to stop it, she had to show both Horde and Alliance their folly that would damn them all. Fury sprang to her blood as she spoke the well known words to her spells to aid Thrall. Jaina had always loved being a mage, how the enchanted words felt as they rolled off her tongue in their precise infection, the tingling of power bursting at her finger tips as the magic trembled through her body to reach a crescendo as she let it reign. Charging her most powerful spells at the dragon, she let her power fly unleashed at the aberration soaring above them all.

The beast twisted and banked deftly as if sensing this was a new kind of combatant, but was no match for the sorceress powerhouse. Horde and Alliance watching the spectacle ceased fighting finally getting the message through their dense skulls that the dragon was there by no ones demand. Many grabbed arrows and spears and the one's graced with magic cast spells to aid the arch mage. But none were powerful as Jaina in her very element of powerful spells.

Fire ball after ice bolt and arcane missiles assault the dragon so that it couldn't dodge no matter which way the midnight black bulk tried to veer. Stalactites shook and shuddred with the ages as the gargantuan body barreled through them, its broad wings flapping vainly through the cavern sending the smoke swirling in gust around the corridors. Many there would claim Jaina Proudmoore brought the dragon down all by herself. Her spells tore through its webbed filament between the bony appendages of wings and began freezing them and pierced his scales. The joints that connected wing with body froze with ice, as the arcane magic's slowed its movement even further.

With a roar of alarm it began to spiral out of control like a dwarven Gyrocopter aflame, before dropping like a rock causing debris storm of rubble and smoke to erupt in the huge camp that knocked many off their feet.

The dragon was down, certainly wounded mortally, but not dead. Even after taking the monstrous fall, the beast roared in anger and pain, its thick hide tail swiping dangerously to any foolish enough to try and attack its back, while fangs as big as swords snapped at random, its claws vainly trying to move out from the cracked crater it had conjured from its fall.

And on came Thrall mace in hand leaping as he brought the hammer on the Dragons skull. Bone particles and gushes of black blood erupted from the head as the dragon clawed helpless at the air, screeching in agonizing rage. It was all the motion that the soldiers needed. Horde and Alliance leapt on the beast hacking, slashing, pounding and bashing with reckless abandon.

When the dragon laid still and wings torn off the brute the soldiers raised a bloody cheer. No matter Horde or Alliance they all felt triumphant. Some thought it a grand idea to haul Jaina on their shoulders and parade her around the large cavern shouting her name. "Jaina. Jaina!" They cheered till to hoarse to continue and only then did they let her down. The thrill of victory hummed through every vein, be they Horde or Alliance. They shook, and gave hearty back slaps to one another with crimson hands and whooped joyously to the sky.

Thrall was a calm spectator looking on proud and amused as he watched Jaina embarrassedly disengaged from the joyous troops. He chuckled as he gazed at her fondly; there was great power in the sorceress.

~8~8~

It was two days nearly all the clean up was finished. Due to having both shamans and priests, the once bloody battle had not been as great a massacre as ether leader had supposed.

The woolen awnings for the wounded stretched out like one long bloody bandage that rolled out holding both Horde and Alliance. Groans rose louder than the whistling wind through the hollow cracks of the mountains. The screams of those who had to have an amputation or an artery seared close would occasionally pierce the air that still lingered with the stench of smoke. But they were screams and groans, not silence, they were alive, and most, would live.

Jaina stood at the entrance of her camp watching the bloody sea of injured intently. The thrill had waned replaced by grudges and more hate. Both forces forgot they had done their fair share of fighting towards the other, all that mattered was that an orc had slain a human or that a human had ran an orc through on his sword. Soon, the grumbling would begin and the quiet protest to cut away from the orcs would rise once more.

"Dranka Proudmoore." A rough orcish voice snapped from behind Jaina startling her out of her thoughts.

The sorceress masked a shiver of fright having not heard the orc some up, though she knew by the tone it was the apprentice Dan'ruk. He was as hot headed as Darren when it came to humans, and Jaina wondered slightly had he come to do her harm. Tossing the thought away, she knew an apprentice of Thrall's would never do something so outrageous.

Making her face a blank page, she turned to him, offering a small smile. "Throm'ka, Dan'ruk." She greeted using the orcish welcome she had picked up from around Thrall. If Jaina was anything, she was a fast learner, her accent was growing better and she could follow a slow conversation in orcish fairly well, impressing Dan'ruk, although he hid the fact that he was impressed.

"The Warchief would ask if you would meet him." Dan'ruk grumbled. Sometimes he would never understand Thrall, why ask this human to come when he knew good and well, he could force her to come anyway. It made no sense, but on the other hand, most things about Thrall made no sense. More human than orc, as Dan'ruk had heard the dissenters in the orcish ranks grumble in the shadows.

The sorceress nodded, and forced herself not to frown, it was never good news when he sent Dan'ruk to find her and pull her away privately. "I'll be along shortly, thank you." She replied pleasantly masking her worry.

After taking another long look at the rows of injured swathed in bandages the sorceress muttered a weary sight and slipped off to meet Thrall no doubt to discuss the recent events.

The guards saluted her when she walked in even one whispering the name Dranka under their breath in respectful tone. Thrall smiled when she entered, though he was in a somber mood. He took a deep breath before speaking. "Many of our people are dead Jaina. Soon the thrill of victory will wane and the grumbling will set in. My men will ask why I did not punish the humans that killed our own."

"As will mine," She agreed sadly while nearing the standing Thrall. "The clean up should keep them busy for a time, by then we should have been able to pin point at least the radius in which the Oracle dwells."

"And if we can't…" The pessimistic words rang hollow through the air. It pained Thrall to speak them but it was what needed to be said. "If there is one thing I can say about you Jaina is that your men our devoutly loyal. All motivated by one goal." He sighed running a hand through his thick onyx tresses. "Mine however, come from many different clans of old; even in the interment camps, each knew what clan they hailed from. Each has their own little spokesmen and I'll never know when a mutiny might be lurking. I can never guarantee full safety." Thrall suddenly shook his head as if coming out of a dream, he bit down so hard on his tongue it bled as he hid his panic behind a wall of neutral features. He had just given away possible damning information and knew it. What was it about this woman that made him so open?

Jaina knew this as well, but only smiled placing an understanding hand on his shoulder. He was more than ready at the moment to remind her she was his prisoner should she even utter a hint of blackmail.

"The life of a leader is never easy, if there is anything I can do to help, ask." She replied in genuine kindness.

Thrall was touched by the words and ashamed of his own fear; Jaina was trustworthy, the spirits had already attested to that. Nodding, he placed a hand over hers offering her a faint flash of a smile. Both their eyes widened in alarm as each detached quickly, their gazes falling to their feet, an awkwardness filling the room. How did the keep getting into these situations? A smile, a touch, like a secret gesture they shared, but they were so different.

"By the way, some of your men started calling me 'Dranka' what does it mean?" Jaina asked to cut through the awkwardness while forcing her hands to her sides. Ever since two days ago, orcs had started calling her that along with her last name, she had wondered what it meant but hadn't the time to ask in all the plans.

Thrall grinned widely, his signature rare tusky grin the sorceress had only seen a handful of times, and never out amongst his men but tucked away privately when they two were alone. "It's orcish for Warchief." He revealed. "Since you brought down the black beast you've earned my peoples respect. My men have now acknowledged your rank as leader of a different clan- Warchief Proudmoore. It is a great honor to say the least."

Her, a respected leader amongst orcs? The idea was almost laughable but filled the arch mage with a sense of warming pride. "I-I-I am honored." Jaina admitted, and curtsied swiftly dipping her head low to hide the pink blush tinting her alabaster cheeks.

"Another thing." He added, before digging around in a leather satchel lying on the table. Jaina watched curiously as he produced one of the dragon's smaller fangs as long as a human's index finger. It was as white as snow and the tip still razor sharp. A hole had been pounded carefully at the top to let a then strip of black lather through.

Thrall held it by the leather thong holding it out to Jaina. "It it yours by right. The first prize taken from a worthy foe. It might seem primitive but it is important in orcish culture." He explained as her placed it over the sorceress head. Jaina looked down at the deadly fang, a finger running down the ivory white side. It was no secret that humans to took things like this sometimes. Tucking it inside her shirt she patted it once then looked up at Thrall once more. "Thank you Thrall." She smiled.

Thrall grinned warmly at her, as their eyes met once more; instantly the tension filled the tent again almost palpable in the smoky dry air. Bobbing swiftly in a quick good bye, the sorceress left the tent with as much seemly hast as would allow. In truth, the awkwardness they shared at the moments that crept up upon them was more terrifying than the dragon they had killed.

Out side she paused at the tent flap taken aback as both Horde and Alliance had erected a pulley system bringing the head of the great dragon over a huge stalagmite close to the Alliance encampment. Blood oozed from the head like some macabre trail as they heaved to push it. When they saw her more cheering erupted from both sides weapons raised, battle cries, as they all chanted her name.

Jaina stood there, at a loss of what to do, she had never liked the spot light; she even blushed when Antonidas, her master, had shown her praise. With a stalwart nod trying to duck her head, she headed to the Alliance encampment to aid in more of the clean up. As she left, a hand went to her neck where she swore she could still feel the warmth of Thralls fingers as they had brushed past her ivory skin. It brought a shiver to her spine, but she shook it off to focus on the issues that would meet her soon.

Darren met her just as she entered the human encampment, his face ashen white.

"What's wrong, Darren?" Jaina asked in an alarmed hurried whisper, pulling him to a private dark corner to speak; her meeting with Thrall temporarily forgotten.

He pointed in two different directions the look of worry deepening I the ridges of his face. "Our scouts have reported…you're not going to believe this but mutant cows wearing armor and bearing weapons headed this way."

Many cast glances at the sorceress who was bent double in laughter, the Arch-mages hand clamped across her mouth as she chuckled a good two minuets straight afterwards at the unexpected arrivals coming in their direction. "What other news, mutant sheep from the other direction." She giggled trying to get herself under control.

"No, my lady." Darren paused seeming sad before delivering the other news, it wasn't often Jaina laughed, but he had the implication she did before taking the ships to Kalimdor. "The Oracle is sitting in your tent right now requesting a private audience."

He was amazed but not surprised to see Jaina somber so quickly, her face loosing all complexion, catching his worrying frown like some infectious disease. With a spell hurriedly mumbled from her full lips she was in her tent in mere seconds.

The oracle was not what she expected, in fact she had to do a double take to make sure she really was seeing what she was seeing. Anger and shock gripped the sorceress, her blue eyes narrowed as she gripped her silver gleaming staff to keep from loosing her temper. "You're the oracle." She hissed in accusing tones at the prophet who had come to her in the ruins of…that place, masked as a raven.

"Indeed I am." The older man garbed in a feathered cloak replied with a slight nod of his head. His hands were folded together on his crossed legs as he gazed at Jaina completely at ease.

He was middle aged but there was something about him that made him look very old, older than time. In fact, Jaina, when pressed, wasn't sure she could place his exact age.

"What kind of game are you playing," Jaina asked angrily. "You've sent two peoples across the world when you could have come to them anywhere!"

"True but I needed you both to come to Kalimdor." He replied evenly with a slight shrug.

"For what?" Jaina growled, forcing herself not to snap out the words.

The oracle chuckled slightly causing Jaina's ire to grow. Did he know how thin a line he was treading? "All will be revealed in time, Lady Proudmoore. But it's come to my attention, you're in quite a bind. A prisoner to the savage orcs, men dead from Alliance Horde aggression. I came to the orcs as well in case the mighty human's wouldn't come." He leaned closer to her his voice a whisper. "I can help you defeat them, with our magic's we could do it alone, kill two birds with one stone, save our world and help the Alliance wash away that green filth known as orcs. You'd be celebrated as a hero, a legend even!"

"I trust Thrall more than I will ever trust you." She replied almost immediately her voice bristling with danger. She didn't care she had taken his word and had come across the seas, the thought of betraying Thrall put bile in her belly and make her want to send a few Arcane Missiles in the Oracles direction.

"Ah, but would he give the same answer?" The oracle asked slyly offering her a knowing wink.

Jaina didn't blink her eyes boring into the oracle. "Get out." She snarled.

The oracle gave a wide smile before standing up, all craftiness suddenly vanishing. "I knew I'd made a good choice. Untaintable." He said more to himself than to her.

In an eye blink he was gone, leaving a very confused Jaina, wondering what had happened. Sighing she leaned her forehead on the cool metal of her staff, her eyes screwed shut. Whatever that mad man had come for, Thrall had to know.

Thrall sat at the makeshift desk running his calloused hand through his thick mane of black tresses, racking his brain over already outraged clan speakers who wanted Jaina's head on a pike for what her men had done to their people. He had calmly reminded them that they themselves had started their fair share of the fights, but hate seemed to overlook critical facts.

"We meet again, son of Durotan." The Oracle greeted stepping from the shadows as if he had been standing their all along.

Thrall stood up quickly turning around a hand on his doom hammer in honed reflexes. "You…" Thrall whispered surprised. His brow furrowed in sudden revelation his jaw tightening into a grim nearly murderous set. "You're the Oracle aren't you."

"That I am." The oracle nodded. "But that's not what's important. What is important is that the mighty Horde has recognized the danger this world is in and have proudly marched to battle." The oracle snorted disdainfully. "Unlike the humans, after going to the king himself, and the leader of the mages, only a waif of a mage heeded my words."

Thrall growled at that, but surprising himself that he felt anger when someone talked of Jaina in such a manner.

The Oracle continued. "If their king would not listen, what might happen when this human is faced with a major trouble. Or what if she tried to betray you, she is human after all."

"I will not let you defame her honor. Speak what needs speaking but do not talk of the Lady Proudmoore in such a way." Thrall snarled hefting his doom hammer warningly.

The Oracle looked over Thrall, his face smeared with unveiled surprise. He rubbed his stubble chin murmuring intently. "Such progress, I hadn't known you'd both come so far already. Perhaps…"

"What are you babbling about." Thrall asked as the Oracle went silent.

The Oracle waved a hand at nothing banishing a thought he'd been toying with before looking back to Thrall a smile on his face. "Yes, yes, such progress. You and Lady Proudmoore gather your forces tomorrow and meet me in the caves just north of here. The Tauren should have found the gem that leads the way to the corridor."

A flash of light illuminated the room blinding Thrall briefly. Jaina stood there taking the hood of her cloak down from her head as she stepped forward in one smooth motion. "Thrall, the Oracle was just." She paused, taking a step back. Her eyes turned to Thrall trying to read the situation but seeing as much confusion in them as she had. "Oh…" she mumbled pathetically as if disturbing some private meeting.

The Oracle laughed loudly, clapping his hands together, he appeared very excited his gray eyes glinting joyfully. " So we do have a fighting chance! As I just told the Warchief, meet me tomorrow in the caves north of here. All will be revealed then." He bowed deeply to them both. "Good day."

In seconds he was gone, leaving Thrall and Jaina to look at each other wondering what had just happened.

"As if this day couldn't get any stranger." Jaina sighed very tired. "Mutant cows, and now the Oracle just pops up out of nowhere after all this time! I wanted to wring his scrawny neck for all the troubles he's put us through!"

"Mutant cows." Thrall echoed his voice laced with confusion. A moment later he was grinning and laughing something that made Jaina involuntarily smile. "Cairne!"

The Tauren were just walking into the orcish encampment as Thrall and Jaina stepped out. Jaina had been curious when Thrall said he had allies still in the tunnels, she had thought them orcs or maybe a few of the trolls that littered their ranks. The Tauren were the biggest creatures, save for giants, she'd ever seen. Hulking furry bodies, with cloven hooves and horns bristling with muscle and carrying mighty log looking tribal painted wood on their backs so easily Jaina wondered how powerful they must be.

Cairne found the Warchief instantly, going over to greet him. He was ancient but ruddy, and looked quite hearty for a creature the arch-mage knew had to be at least as old as Antonidas had been. "The earth mother be praised that we found you, young orc." The hulking beast man flicked his gaze from Thrall to Jaina who reminded her of a favorite grandfather. "Ah, so I see you have located the pink skins, but you once called them enemies if I'm not mistaken. What's going on?"

Thrall shook Cairne's large furry three fingered hand warmly. "It is good to see you again, my friend." He held his hand out to the sorceress who stood beside him. "This is Jaina Proudmoore, leader of the humans, they allied with us to find the Oracle."

Cairne held out his hand to Jaina smiling kindly at her. "I must admit, you are not what I expected the chieftain of the humans to look like. I expected something more…intimidating."

Jaina couldn't help but laugh, liking the towering aged Tauren already. "That makes two of us."

"I am glad you found us when you did." Thrall butted in with a whisper. "We meet the Oracle tomorrow in the caves north of here. He said you found some sort of stone?"

Cairne nodded solemnly before digging into a Kodo hide pack slung across his broad shoulders. " Some Quillboars were protecting it. After we sent them scattering, I knew instantly this was the key to your goal, young orc. It's high time we stopped expending our forces in these caverns." As if just noticing the surroundings the Tauren Chieftain eyes flicked behind Thrall and Jaina to see the massive beast being pulled by both orc and human. " I see you've also had a battle here." He commented sagely.

The dragon's corpse was being dragged away from the encampment to bet set ablaze. Both Horde an Alliance were smashing the dragon's teeth out, each culture believing the teeth were lucky or wanting a token from such a beast.

"How'd you take down that monster?" Cairne asked not trying to hide his impression.

"It was mostly Jaina. I don't know how we would have brought it down without her." Thrall informed the Tauren. He couldn't shake the tone of pride in his voice.

Jaina halted herself from placing a hand on the dragon's tooth Thrall had handed her earlier that was now tied around her neck.

"Do not judge a tome by is bindings!" Cairne laughed as he sized the sorceress up once more. There seemed to be a more serious expression in his warm brown eyes, as if suddenly realizing that this in fact was a chieftain.

Jaina took no offence by his laughter, many were skeptical of her power until seeing them. It was amusing in its own way to see a persons jaw drop when a blizzard rained down in the middle of a scorching summer coating the dried ground in a white glaze of frost or some other impossible feat that boggled the mind.

Now with the key to success literally in their grasp, the three leaders talked in quieting tones, as the Horde and Alliance worked together in fitful conjunction. For the first time it looked like a break in the confusing darkness.


	5. The World Above

The next morning, all troops were ready to move out from the huge cavern they had dwelled in for weeks of fruitless searching for the Oracle. Thrall and Jaina both knew, with whatever news the Oracle would place before them they could not stay in the underbelly of the Stonetalon peaks any longer. Wooden crates were packed to bursting on the backs of peons and peasants, tents crammed away, supplies stored on every back and make shift carriers so that they looked like some kind of odd caravan roaming the black tunnels.

The names of all who had perished under the mountain had been scorched upon the largest of the cavern walls, the head of the black dragon above as a memorial headstone. The bodies of the brave orc and humans had been burned and the ashes carefully laid to rest beside the brilliant white bones of the dragon. Jaina had watched silently as the soldiers from both forces paid respect for their dead, the humans in silent commemoration and quiet murmuring prayers to the Light, the orcs in rousing battle cries that were shouted so loud it still made Jaina's ears ring with their proud battle songs to their brothers. Some day, she promised herself, they'd all be given a proper burial, if the world had not been utter annihilated by then.

As both forces made their way to the directed meeting spot. Thrall and Jaina, didn't truly expect for the mysterious Oracle to actually be there after all the searching they had been subject to for the weeks that had vainly wandered the endless caverns that crawled under the mountain. Another mystery, another mindless encrypted message was they actually hoped to gain.

They were surprised when the Oracle was standing in the main cavern donning a grim impatient look. He was rapping his fingers on the cool rock rhythmically, behind him green steam winding up from a small bubbling pool that simmered ominously.

"Took your time." The Oracle muttered impatiently.

"Well, we're here," Thrall grumbled as he stomped into the small cubby like space. He crossed his bulging arms, giving the Prophet a narrowing glare. "Now tell us what this is all about."

The Oracle beckoned the pair to the pool, proffering his hand to the murky green waters silently. The pool was a sickly pale green, that wafted up a foul smelling odor of death and decay. There was a taint to it, a press of dark magic's that lingered in the still air and made Thrall and Jaina's skin crawl.

"What are we supposed to be seeing?" Jaina asked intrigued, her eyes searching the murky pool.

The Oracle waved a hand over the steam, and the waters cleared, revealing creatures that made the pair gasp. Hulking giants of gray flesh wielding gleaming double headed axes, as the marched in endless ranks. Above them bulky black monsters that looked like something pulled out from a child nightmare soared over head, their bodies looking far to heavy for such small leathery wings on their backs that oozed with puss that when hit the ground hissed like acid and shrivel up all living things on the tramples grass. Creatures made of heaps of jagged boulders and burning with green fire came in endless waves of vile teal making the earth shudder in violent throes under them as they marching stoically forward; one could almost smell their acrid stench even though it was only a scrying pool.

"Aberrations!" Thrall cried out aghast. He could feel the spirits swirl around him like some sort of chilled mist angry at the sight of the beasts. They cried out in fury and fear, so that Thrall's mind was filled with a bursting pain of panic and warning.

"That." The Oracle began sadly, his eyes flickering at some old memory that caused his cloak covered body to shiver, "Is only a small force of the legion. The great power of evil that was attempted to conquer this world twice is now at our doorstep again."

Jaina leaned over the pool of teal waters her hands gripping the rough stone edges at the sudden explanation. Her head turned to the prophet, though her eyes had a hint of haunting and understanding dread. "This is why you gathered us; to fight these…monsters. What can two half disparaged races do against such darkness?" Even with only a small glimpse the sight of such terrors made Jaina's stomach shrivel. One alone looked like it would be a fair fight, but hundreds, thousands, a Legion? How did one stop such evil from washing over them?

"More than you think, Lady Proudmoore." The Oracle lips tipped slightly in a grim smile as if reading her dire thoughts. "The Alliance fought back, legions of bloodthirsty orcs that clambered at their city gates and ravaged the lands of the eastern kingdoms. No doubt your father told you of the wars that nearly toppled the human kingdoms of the Alliance. I tell you this, I still don't know how the orcs did not win, we had everything…" He paused sharply before shaking his head once in a regretful manner. "A tale for another time. Still, this world is not doomed, Azeroth has faced this threat before, they fought them back, and they may do so again!"

"But how?" Thrall prodded, his heavy brow furrowed in something Jaina knew to be worry and indecision. "If there are as many as you claim, with such power, how will we fight them back to their pits?"

The Oracle sighed with what seemed like the weight of eternity on his cloaked shoulders. He truly appeared the stuff of history as he looked to the pair with watery tired eyes that had probably seen more generations than either could count. "That I cannot tell you, only that it has been done, and can be done again. What I can tell you is that only a united front and a desperate will to save this world will fuel the power you will need on the perilous fight before you."

"Aren't you going to help?" Jaina asked, almost pleadingly as the full weight of the task plummeted down upon her. This…man…thing truly expected them to fight back this menace that was clawing its way to Azeroth.

The Oracle looked away to the blackness of the corridors that pockmarked the mountain; he scanned them intently one by one, as if each hid a new treasure. "I am not of this time, or this place." He confessed hollowly. "I have come back only to find redemption for sins of the pasts. That was my only purpose, the only reason I am standing before you now." He gazed at them both stoically, his eyes never blinking. "It is your time now, Thrall son of Durotan, and Jaina Proudmoore, Arch-mage of the Kirin Tor. If you do not bear this cup, then my warnings were a waste."

"So you expect us to go up against a force like that, with no plan, no preparation, and no idea what to start with, alone?" Thrall growled angrily, his biceps flexed as he clenched his fists tightly in order to keep his temper at bay.

The Prophet smiled thinly. "I said I would not be able to aid. But you shall not be without help, but first you must find them, and I dare say there are none better when it comes to fighting these demons, they did so in ages past before your great, great, great, grandsires were even born."

"They?" Jaina echoed confused her voice snapping with frustraion. "Who are they? If you say we have as little time as we do, then do not speak in riddles!"

The oracle bowed once to the angry sorceress accepting to the scolding brought on by fear and frustration. "My apologies, they are the Kaldorei, Night Elves in your tongue. Seek them in the shaded glades of Kalimdor; they will be your key to success." A very heavy sigh passed his lips suddenly, and he seemed to be older than time yet again, a thing that was woven in the fabric of history; there, but not. "My hour is done for this time and place. It now all falls to you. Do not let my warning be in vain, and save the world I once opened to darkness."

Before either could speak a word it seemed that the Oracle had never been there at all, like they had been the only two in the chamber for hours. Thrall started in confusion, casting his gaze around as if the strange human could have been hiding behind a stalagmite. Jaina blinked in surprise as if coming out a dream. Reaching her magic out to try and find the remnants of a teleportation spell she found nothing lingered as if the Oracle had never been.

"He's gone." Thrall stated then muttered a black curse in orcish before kicking at the rock walls. There was so much that needed to be discussed, so much to know and discover, and yet the damned human had vanished like some child's party magician! Thrall wanted to clutch his head with both hands and scream out all his frustrations that had built up since the moment the stolen ships had unfurled their sail and the headed for Kalimdor. The spirits had whispered to listen to trust that mad man of a human, and now he found himself having to face numberless legions clawing to decimate their world. What was he to do? What if he wasn't good enough to handle such an undertaking? What if he failed?

"We can't stay either." Jaina added as she stood up. Straightening her blue and white mage garb with trembling hands. "We need to get back to the surface and start looking for those elves, not to mention get scouts up and running, and buildings erected, and…."

He jerked around to face her, his eyes blazing as he pointed a thick green finger at her. "What makes you think that we can actually do this? Work together with one another, and these elves, that we don't even know where they dwell, without a plan and defeat these demons!" He interrupted with a snarl.

"Because I have to think it!" She snapped back, totally unshakable by the Warchief's anger roaring in front of her. He was not the only one who had just been burdened with the fate of the world! "If I don't then I might as well just sit in this mountain for the rest of my days waiting for our world to be brought to oblivion! We must do _something_." The arch-mage hissed.

They stared daggers at one another for a moment, blue glaring at icy blue before Jaina closed her eyes taking in a calming breath that soothed her nerves and let her focus. She smiled reassuringly, placing a hand on his gold and black armored shoulder, speaking gently. "It does seem so daunting, but we can do this, we must. We've come this far so for good or ill we must finish until there is no breath left in our bodies to try."

How could she be so calm, when the literal end of the world was barreling towards them? Thrall's tense panic began to flow away like the tide at her touch, and soothing, rational, encouraging voice. Always calm, always collected Jaina; the voice of reason when he felt about to be buried under the weight of leadership. He made a quick mental note that he was beginning to rely on the sorceress more and more as the weeks went by. With a small ashamed nod at his outburst, the Warchief smiled faintly placing his large calloused hand over her delicate own, and for the first time neither felt awkward or drew away.

~8~8~

Sarah Brightguard stared at the misty blue sky of evening as she stepped away from the Human camp to get some fresh air and clear her quivering nerves. The strange lion and bat-like Wyvern were soaring lazily overhead, their purring echoing softly through out the nooks and recesses of the mountain side.

Despite the sounds that usually soothed the dutiful servant they were of no help today. Jaina should have been back three days ago, but they had lost contact with the sorceress some weeks earlier, and although the soldiers had gone searching through the black corridors they always came back empty handed. The maid servant, rested her back on the night brown bark of some foreign tree as she watched the Wyvern dip and veer beautifully in the air, she bit down worryingly on her knuckle as she watched the ferocious beast play nipping a swirling around. "Where are you, missus?" Sarah sighed in a whisper.

What would become of them if Jaina never came back? The Eastern Kingdoms was in turmoil, dead roaming the once proud now forever haunted cities. Lorderan gone to nothing but an abandoned city crumbling away to the ages, and Gilneas a nation sequestered away from the world having locked its doors upon all and sundry. Would they be stuck in this savage land till the end of their days?

"Excuse me is this the way to Lady Proudmoore encampment?" A rough burly voice asked.

Sarah waved a hand dismissingly in her worried state. "Course it is, just head east, and you'll see the guards." She replied, not even turning to see who it was who spoke. It suddenly dawned on her that no one who wasn't from the encampment would have asked that question. Jerking around to see who spoke, the maids jaw dropped at the sight of orcs trudging at a fast pace towards the encampment.

More orcs? Were they going to attack the encampment like they had done last time and burn it down? "Wait, stop!" Sarah blurted uneasily before slapping her hands over her mouth in panic in realization what she had done. If they were going to attack the encampment maybe she could hold them off. After a spilt second she shook any notion of that away, she had her sword, but she wasn't truly adept at swordsmanship, and knew without a doubt even the most incompetent orc could best her in combat.

The lead orc turned around his tusked mouth in an annoyed grimace. The fanged white wolfs head headdress he wore covered his eyes, but Sarah could tell they probably were rolling in irritation. "Lady Proudmoore and Warchief Thrall told us to meet them at the Human encampment. Are we going the right way or not?"

Jaina had sent them? That was interesting; why would she do something like that as to direct orcs to their camp?

Jaina! The word made Sarah's heart leap, her friend was back! To happy to care orcs were all glaring at her the maid servant smiled widely, before skipping along. "Right this way!"

The orcs struggled to keep up with the woman who zipped through the lines of trees as well as any deer would. She almost seemed lighter than air as she raced in front of the orcs. Once in sight of the newly erected camps, the guards who were supposed to be watching the perimeter all had their backs turned. Weapons and jaws swinging loosely as they saw their leader beside a mountain of an orc speaking in her usual commanding tone.

Sarah's joyful sprint staggered off into a slow trot as she walked to the fringes of the crowd that had gathered. Guards who had not heard the orcs come up behind her leapt back in shock as the green skinned warriors mingled amongst their own. Some began to draw their blades but Jaina had already foreseen such and had put soldiers who had been in the mountain belly spread out to stop the fights from taking place.

The maid would have gladly ran up to Jaina and ask what was happening, but it looked as if the Arch-mage was about to explain and break the harrowing news the survivors of Lorderan had been dying to hear. Holding her peace she shuffled through the ranks of gleaming armor to get closer to hear every word Jaina spoke.

The Arch-mage looked at the rest of her men critically just as the other portion of Thralls forces had come in through the now unguarded camp. At first his forces would have none of going through her conjured portal that led to the bright world above of Kalimdor, but a sharp order from Thrall the orcs had begrudgingly gone through with Dan'ruk leading the way. Thrall trusted her, if no one else in his forces did, and ironically his trust meant the world to her.

After it looked as if the forces had quieted, to a soft disbelieving lull she quietly murmured the spell to make her voice clearly heard before speaking. "Soldiers of Lorderan are situation stands as this. All the tragedies we have suffered, all the hardships we have fought through have been a plot by an ancient menace. As we speak this menace moves to destroy all life upon Azeroth."

She paused staring at the wide eyed crowed as the murmurs rose again to unseemly talk at her words. As they quieted again she spared a glance at Thrall, solid confident as always lending her some of his strength with just a soft look, and then continued. "We have all sacrificed much; our lives will never be the same again. Yet it is _life._ We can live if we join with the orcs to stop this terror." Before any protest could be spoken she pressed through quickly, only dancing lightly upon the subject of partnering with the orcs. "Who here does not want vengeance for a loved one slain? A friend? A companion? Who here does not remember the terrors of Lorderan as if it happened yesterday? We will confront the darkness that potted these tragedies we have suffered, and spit in its ugly face!"

Strategically placed orcs and humans began to clap fervently, but Jaina doubted any were needed by the roar of agreement coming from the human and orc forces. Fists punched high into the air rousing cries broke out, names of fallen uttered in a solemn oath of revenge. Vengeance, it seemed, was another key that superceded hatreds. She felt shaky after such a rousing speech she was dubious would work, but it seemed that many of her people were finding credence in her words.

"Masterfully done, Lady Proudmoore." Thrall commended her with a whisper as they turned away. If there was anything he could say about Jaina, she had the instincts of a natural born leader.

The sorceress fought down a smile at his words, which caused a light pink to bloom upon her ivory cheeks. She cursed herself inwardly after she felt her face heat, why did he always make her like this. Like Arthas had…banishing the troublesome thought away a spilt second after it a sprung in her mind the Arch-mage forced herself to think of something less disturbing and heart jerking.

A sigh passed her lips as she rolled her shoulders, her face upturned to the sky letting the suns rays warm her body. Weeks in the caverns had been rife with freezing cold and eternal darkness where most of the men, including Jaina, had come out several tones lighter in a sickly pale than when they had gone in. She rubbed her neck as she enjoyed the long wanted sunshine; it felt good to have the golden rays wash over her, to remind her that if she and Thrall did not do their job all of it could be taken away.

"Milady!" Sarah cried happily, yanking Jaina from her reprieve. The servant nearly toppled Jaina in a tackle hug but the stalwart sorceress managed to keep her feet. Sarah was a head shorter than Jaina but five years older. Her hair was cropped short in mulled colors of reddish brown, eyes of emerald that were always warm, and ruddy freckle marked cheeks. Her family had served the Proudmoores for as long as anyone could remember, theirs was a lineage that could stretch as far back as Kul'tiras itself.

Jaina smiled widely as she tried to catch her breath from the hug that felt like it was squeezing the breath out of her lungs. "Sarah, you don't know how hard it's been not to see you. Is everything alright here?" She asked as the maid servant released her from her giants grip.

"Nothing to bad, Milady." Sarah murmured while smoothing the wrinkling in her woolen vest to its usual crispness. Her voice drifted quieter as her eyes shifted about quickly. "In the day that is, at night some of the men say they hear exotic female voice laughing in the darkness, speaking in a strange tongue. Others see glowing blue orbs like a ball of mist racing in-between the trees in the thick woods. While some claim to have seen entire huge trees get up and walk away, easy as you please!"

Jaina shook her head in confusion as if she hadn't heard correctly, her mind whirling at the strange occurrences. The Arch-mage had expected to hear news of attacks or would be raids on their encampment. She had never heard of anything like it before, unless it was some sort of illusion magic at play. "Voices, floating balls, moving trees? It doesn't make much sense. Have all the men seen these things?"

"No, but I can tell you, unless it's something in the air, their not crazy. A week after you left I was gathering a bit more wood for a cooking fire and I look up and I swear I was surrounded by darkness and purple glowing eyes all staring at me." Sarah lifted her hands up, empty her palms up as she shrugged. "Then, poof, it was like they had never been, but had faded away into the night. I tell you milady there's something out there in those shaded woods, and its watching us."

Jaina sighed as she felt a tension grow in her. The back of her eyes pounded in a head ache that was about to come on strong. Orcs, dragons, oracles, and now this; she made a mental note to speak to Darren about dissuading soldiers from telling what they saw on night watch. She new from experience one story from the right mouth and everyone would be on the look out for lilac eyes and trees casually strolling along rather than the real threats that could be watching them from afar. As an admirals daughter she had seen sailors who'd heard tales of monstrous beast in the deeps told by drunken old men, causing fresh sailors to look for some gigantic fin or rows of sharp teeth rather than the real dangers such as reefs and sandbars. And as an Admirals daughter, she, like her father, would not allow fanciful tales to endanger her mission.

Forcing a smile she patted her friend on the shoulder. "Thank you for the news, Sarah. By the way if you could manage to find anything to eat around here, that'd be wonderful. I don't think I've eaten all day."

The servant nodded and dutifully bounded off, leaving Jaina alone with her thoughts and a pounding headache that felt like a thousand dwarves at a Blacksmithing contest.

"So far so good." Thrall confirmed as he walked up beside her again. Both looked apon the two peoples that mingled only mildly and not with out a few hateful glances and muttering curses. Folding his hands behind his back Thrall stood at ease beside the arch-mage, a grimace etching his thick lips. "All that remains before we find these Night elves is to track down my fellow orcs of the Warsong clan. Hopefully I can convince that mule headed Hellscream to stay in line and not cause trouble." Thrall forced himself not to flinch even as the words left his mouth. Even through he had sent runners; Grom wasn't where Thrall had sent him.

After that little stunt of attacking the human base he had sent the hot blooded Warsong to mill lumber for the up coming encampments for what had been looking like a long campaign. He had never thought of the 'long campaign' turning out as it had in the belly of the mountain with an alliance formed with the humans, but what had happened had happened, and even still the lumber that Hellscream had been tasked to gather would be indispensable in their new plans. Buildings still had to be raised, walls erected, barriers put in place. But to Thralls endless frustration he had received word that the mill lay bare with rotting wood and saws rusting away in the open elements, the camp empty of all life.

Jaina read Thralls worry that lined into the ridges of his rough face as if he were an open tome. "Don't worry, we will find him. If he's a half a great warrior as you brag he is then I don't think anything on Azeroth could bring your Grom Hellscream down." She stated fighting hard not to give him a comforting touch. It felt so easy to express a feeling of assurance with Thrall. One brush of the hand, a smile, and both seemed to draw more hope from their suffering supplies.

"I hope you're right, Lady Proudmoore." Thrall muttered offhandedly his blue gaze far away in thought. The spirits were whispering in anguish like they were in pain that something was trying to drive them away from the orcs. A force from ancient days that was clawing at the spirits and burying the elements in a void of blackness. With a sigh he shook his head unable to rid himself of the feeling that something dark had overtaken the Warsong. "I sincerely hope you're right." He echoed again to the sorceress, though his rumbling voice held no hint of assurance.


	6. Finding Hellscream

The human and orc encampment in Ashenvale, bustled with activity in the subdued quiet forest that enshrouded them in mulled colors of purple and blues. The trees of the land were massive monoliths, towering up to the blue sky and shading the ground below from the rays of the sun that vainly tried to penetrate through the thick foliage. A 'shaded glade' as the Oracle had out it if there ever was one.

Captains bellowed out orders to both human and orcish workers who were reinforcing the fortifications that seemed to have sprung up overnight. The noise of hammers and saws rang through the air, breaking the reverent silence around them that radiate from the forest.

Jaina overlooked the work with a skilled eye, making sure the two races were not rubbing shoulders so badly it would impede construction. Every so often a scuffle might ensue, with a few punches thrown and some slanders slung, but mostly the work was moving along smoothly. The arch-mage knew fights wouldn't be too much trouble thanks to hers and Thralls wise choice of captains who were the most loyal and level headed they had, along with integrating patrols and other ventures. The two leaders made sure, their people worked together as much as possible, they would need to trust one another explicitly when they had to face the darkness.

As Jaina watched the workers from the top of the newly constructed tower, she leaned against a wooden support her mind going to the strange creature Thrall. The sorceress' mind drifted away to the Warchief as she watched the workers bend their back to their jobs, their sweat rolling down their bodies as they went to their tasks with vigor. There were so many qualities he possessed she'd never thought an orc might have. He walked in a balance of barbarian and gentleman, tact and ferocity, love and lust… Jaina couldn't hide a blush as she stopped that particular thought in its tracks.

Every so often her mind would wander to him, and never failed to delve deeper into more…inappropriate thoughts. He was an orc after all, it was taboo in every way, shape, form, and fashion to think about him in that manner. The craving to feel the heat of his body pressed close to hers and to experience the sensation of his calloused hand skim over her smooth flesh; a want to hear his growling voice in her ears talking of sweet nothings plagued her more every day. Although Jaina tried to keep such thoughts away they managed to steal upon her at the most awkward times.

A lookout suddenly hailed the coming of scouts and Thrall's return jolting Jaina out of her small reprieve. Those not working rushed to the newly erected gates eager for news from the returning party.

Thrall had ridden out with this company of scouts, wanting to see an allied clan known as the Warsong whom he had tasked to building a proper encampment months ago in the forested land. Strangely, even though he had sent scouts out through all directions of the shaded forest, he hadn't heard word from the clan, since last speaking with their chieftain before departing into the Stonetalon mountains to locate the mysterious oracle.

As wolves and horses trotted into the camp, Jaina could tell something was amiss with the Warchief. Thrall had a worried and sad look etched into his hard features that told Jaina trouble was to follow. He acknowledged none of his peoples who thronged about him, eager for news of the mighty Warsong, but headed straight for the command center at a hurrieded pace. Jaina hoped whatever had made the nearly almost always optimistic Warcheif so dour, had a solution.

With a quickly spoken spell she stood at the bottom of the command center, just as Thrall burst in to the newly erected building. The Warchief gave a long, loud, gusty sigh, running a hand through his disheveled raven black hair. "Dead, Jaina, all the scouts I sent to find the Warsong. We found them hacked to bits!"

"Do you think it was those dark elves?" Jaina asked.

The dark elves as the people were terming them had made several hit and run attacks on forces, they were relentless, vicious, and could hide almost anywhere in their shadowed ancient home. Although the Oracle had told them they needed to ally themselves with the agile wily elves, that were easier said than done. They could never capture an elf, or even slow one down and try to communicate. The only contact they received from the elves was mocking laughter in strange voice from all around the thick towering trees, and finely made arrows not aimed at them, but closes enough to shake a few nerves and leave a very clear message they were not welcomed in the forest.

Thrall shook his head, rummaging through a satchel by his side. He threw a broken sword handle on the table covered in dried black blood. The hilt was simply crafted, without ornament on the bronze pommel. "That is Warsong make; we found it lodged inside the ribs on one of the scouts." Thrall explained quietly holding back a disparaged sigh. The Warcheif growled in frustration pacing slightly. "I don't know what going on with the Warsong, Jaina. I have tasked trackers to start from that slaughter and see where it leads us. Even though it is orc business, I could use the extra man power, if you could lend me a few of your knights."

"Of course," Jaina nodded, readily willing to help Thrall in anyway to help find the orc he called, blood brother.

~8~8~

They set out early in what could only be perceived as dawn in the dark forest. The towering trees blocked much of the sunlight making it hard to tell the correct time of day. As soon as they had left out the camp, Thrall jolted his wolf, Icefang, into a dead run zipping through the dark forest like a white streak of lightening. Darren Silvercrest, the chief spymaster Thrall had requested, struggled to keep up with the panicked Thrall.

"Sir, Warcheif, why the nether are you going so fast, we've not even made it to the trackers yet!" Darren yelled out as he tried to catch up.

Thrall clutched the reigns to Icefang, forcing himself to slow from his frantic gallop. The human did have a point, but a rising worry that had been building since yesterday was bubbling inside of him like some vile witches cauldron. Something terrible had happened to Grom, he could sense it in the air around him, and the spirits whispered something was amiss. With deep calming breaths he forced himself to a slower pace; lying to himself that Grom was perfectly fine, it was only the forest making him so nervous.

"Excited to see my old friend is all, Darren." He lied with a forced smile.

The three trackers Thrall assigned to the job were pacing nervously as the scouts arrived. Two were Darkspear Trolls one was an orc, all looked frightened.

"What news, Drel'jan?" Thrall asked the tracker leader warily as he slowed Icefang to a crawl.

"Noting good, Warcheif." The troll tracker replied. The white tribal paint smeared across his large features did little to hide the fact he had been greatly disturbed by his findings. The troll squatted running a trembling hand through his sea green Mohawk, it was only then, and Thrall noticed he was shaking. Drel'jan licked his dry lips, his eyes closed like reliving a nightmare. "It was horrible, Warchief, what we found. I beg you not think us cowards, but we cant go back there. I cant even describe it to you."

"Describe what to me, Drel'jan, what did you find?" Thrall asked hoarsely, his panic reaching an all time high. He forced himself not to grab the troll by his lanky arms and shake him for more information.

Drel'jan looked up to Thrall a haunted look in his ruby eyes so profound, it made Thrall take a step back. "We found what used to be the Warsong encampment." The troll all but whispered it, pointing in a well carved path, his trackers had made on their hasty return from the encampment.

Thrall placed a comforting hand on Drel'jan's shoulder, the troll held his head with his hand, in silent horror quietly weeping into his three fingered hand. "You did your job, my friend, there is no shame, in not desiring to go back." Thrall confirmed soothingly.

The trackers began helping their leader make their way back down to the human orc encampment. He was led numbly away as if he were a machine locked in one setting. Thrall watched them depart with a deep sorrowful frown, before turning to the knights and wolf riders he had asked to come with him. "Here fellows are where we must depart. I must find out alone, what happened to the Warsong encampment."

There was loud shouting of protest, as both human and orc desired to go with him, yet for different reasons.

"Sir Warchief," A knight called out. "You cannot simply go by yourself with out aid. What about your pact with the Lady Proudmoore. All scouting missions must be accompanied by orc and human to avoid, being turned on!"

"Do you call our Warchief a trickster, Pink-skin?" A wolf rider turned on the knight, his fist balled and tusks bared angrily.

"Halt!" Thrall growled demandingly before any real fighting could begin. Even though he desired to go alone, the human had a point; he could not forsake a pact at anytime he saw fit. "The knight is correct; I will not break one of our most important rules. Sir Silvercrest will accompany me."

All knew Darren to be Jaina's most trusted lieutenant, devoutly loyal and strict in conduct. The fighting and grumbling stopped, though many looked ready for a fight; this forest was putting everyone on edge. Everyone felt as if an ambush would be upon their heads at any moment.

"Everyone else, head back to camp, and inform Jaina of our change in plans, if we're not back by sundown send the scouting parties." Thrall ordered officiously using every inch of his leadership to brook no more protest.

With a few grumbling and worried looks the wolves and chargers turned away, loping after the trackers in the dim wood.

"What exactly do you think will be waiting for us down that path?" Darren asked as they watched the scouts ride back the way they had come.

Thrall sighed, very tired, but mounted Icefang stoically. A part of him wished it was not Darren, but Jaina who had accompanied him. She would have soothed his torment and banished all fear with a brush of her delicate hand. If her mere touch could assuage his fear, what might a kiss do? Cursing himself inwardly Thrall forced himself under any circumstance not to let thoughts like that pass his way; especially in such a dire circumstance. "Nothing good, Sir Silvercrest." He shook his head as he spurred Icefang to a slow canter, leading the way down the ominous path, making himself focus on the task at hand. "Nothing good."

~8~8~

The first thing that told Thrall they were near the encampment was the vile stench. A gust of wind brought the fetid smell of waste, rot, and blood to them, hitting him like a brick wall. He and Darren bent over double coughing, their eyes watering at the sudden foulness that swirled about them. Smoke clogged and burned their throats to the point where Thrall pleaded with spirits of wind to blow in an entirely different direction. The wind complied begrudgingly moving off to drift farther away from the pair.

Darren took off one of his leather gauntlets wiping his watery eyes. "I can see why the trackers didn't want to come back here, the smell nearly made me heave!"

"I don't think it was just the smell," Thrall replied though his eyes were stapled to the clearing ahead as they made their way out of the thick forest.

Only then did they see the devastation that had made the trackers not want to come back. Buildings that had once stood tall were gutted out from fires that still burned, consuming the very last bit of wood. Stone and iron scarred or covered in blood told their own story. The ground lay covered with ravaged bodies as if they had been torn to shreds with bare hands. Thrall got off his mount, that had put its tail in-between it legs and trying to get away. Stunned, his disbelieving eyes searched the carnage spread before him.

He walked slowly to a group of bodies that had been piled high, bloated and covered with maggots, and dark swarms of hungry flies. Carrion birds circled overhead yet none dare come down to the bloated corpses, as if they were poisoned. A look of horror stamped all every face that was contorted in agony and torture. On every chest it looked like some sort of rune had been craved into the skin with a rusty saw.

Thrall neared the corpse of one particularly badly burned orc that the skin was flaking away into nothing with the wind. As he got closer, Thrall suddenly jerked back clutching his hand that had gone down to touch the desecrated body, hissing in pain. Tainted magic, demon magic. The spirits cried out in his ear; they sounding like the wind wailing in a gale the shrill shriek almost deafening sending a dull racking pain through his skull.

From the corner of his eyes, a piece of light blue fabric caught his attention. As he neared he saw it as a body that had been carefully draped with the blue that turned out to be a very high quality made cloak. Kneeling down he reverently shifted to cloth to find the face of a troll female, solemn and steady, her braids lay lovingly on either side of her face, her hands clutched her spear, and laying over that a necklace of blue and pink make.

"Do you know who that is?" Darren asked quietly, trailing Thrall.

Thrall nodded slightly slowly draping the cloak over the trolls face. "Taztali, Drel'jan's mate." That explained why the usual grim troll who had seen as much carnage as any of them had had broken down so. To see a love carved up like these were would be enough to send anyone over the edge.

Darren muttered a quiet prayer creating a holy symbol through the air. This reminded the spy master of his old home in Kul'tiras; the bodies, but the blood as well, especially the blood. He could remember running through a part of town he knew so well, and looking upon a wall that had been painted with these same runes scrawled in blood. His parent's blood.

A sharp cry yanked the pair out of their quiet reprieves. Darren and Thrall drew their weapons simultaneously with practiced ease, their sharp eyes roaming the mass of bodies.

"There." Darren pointed his blade at the direction the cry hailed.

The pair made their way warily to the spot their weapons brandished for some sort of gruesome attack. An orc covered in blood, tried vainly to push himself from under the press of bodies that had been stacked on him. Both of the orcs eyes had been gouged out; flies swarmed the putrid sockets as the orc vainly fought to free himself. He cried out with every move, taking in huge gulps of air letting Thrall know he did not have long for this world.

"At ease, friend, we're here." Thrall said soothingly as he neared, letting the warmth of a healing spell flow to the injured orc. It wouldn't be enough to heal him, the damage was to great, but it would help his suffering.

"War…Warchief Thrall?" The orc asked through long minutes of labored breaths, his voice husky and raw from the smoke and probably the screams.

"Yes," Thrall replied using his cloak to make a suitable pillow for the orc. "What happened here, where's Hellscream?"

The blind orc swallowed a few times, licking his blood caked lips. "A few days ago, Hellscream was fine…he left with a war band to investigate some sort of fountain. W…when he came back I could tell something was off about him. There was an aura about his person that bespoke evil. His forces had filled their water skins with water from the fount they sought, telling us if we drank it would make us stronger than we had ever been. I…almost drank some but a drop spilled before I put it to my lips. It was red as blood, and had a foul stench that made my stomach churn. I turned it down…next morning we woke to find all those who had excepted the drink turn on us! They spared no one, torturing us for hours, making blood sacrifices of us. All the while a huge green demon watched in satisfaction!" Blood bubbled from the lips of the blind orc but he forced himself to continue. "After they took my eyes, and threw me in the pile, I overheard someone say they were going to create another encampment close to the fount to give them even more power and build some sort of gate. Its not far off, a few miles west of here…"

With a last mortal breath the orc shuddered heaving in a racking cough and died, leaving Thrall very close to tears. After so many long years of fighting for his people to be freed of the blood taint it had come back in full force. Perhaps his people were doomed to be slaves to their baser instincts forever….

With a roar of anguish at the thought Thrall leapt up, his eyes blazing in righteous wrath. No that would never happen again, he would never let his people become those beasts! "Run." He growled to Darren simply, not looking back to see if the human had or not heeded his words.

Calling upon the earth he felt the ground tremble beneath him in shuddering throes. He ordered the earth to crack and cover the vileness before him in its stony belly. As he walked away, the earth opened a step behind him in an earthquake, its maw widened to devour the terrible acts behind him in absoluteness. The ground heaved and rolled taking what rare few building that had been standing toppling to the earth in billowing clouds of blood covered dust. There was a loud crash like thunder, as the earth sundered open, enveloping the carnage that had been the Warsong camp.

Darren and Thrall watched the spectacle with in solemnity as the earth engulfed the taint and closed again. "So what now, Sir Warchief?" Darren asked as he mounted his nervous charger.

Thrall was still for a moment longer staring blankly where the encampment had once stood. His voice was surprising hollow, like that of a man who had been sick a very long time "In truth, Sir Silvercrest, I can give you no answer…"

~8~8~

It was nearly dusk when Darren and Thrall rode into camp. By the looks on everyone's face when they entered, something was terribly wrong. Jumping off Icefang he handed the reigns to a nearby peon that dutifully led the tired mount to the stables.

He began heading for the command center, and knew his suspicions were justified when Dan'ruk came out to meet him. His bald head was beaded thickly with sweat, and his mouth curved into a worried frown. Thrall slowed his walk, as Dan'ruk neared, speaking in very low whispers. "Tell me the situation before I meet with Jaina." Thrall ordered, searching around should anyone be listening.

"No need to whisper." Dan'ruk informed Thrall, stopping. "Everyone knows what happened already. A peon who had just come back from the river went berserk and killed three grunts with only a pick and his bare hands, Thrall. Three of our best! He would have killed more had the Lady Proudmoore not stopped his rampage with her magic's. Before she killed him he was babbling out the name, Mannorth like a war cry."

Thrall went pale, his eyes widening in sudden realization, it was only then he realized they were down east by the river. They had traveled west, up hill, and the dying orc had said Grom had gone up even further. Could Hellscream be spreading the demon taint by the river in order to infect more orcs? If he was, to a peon perhaps, even a small dose of the fount water was lethal, what ever had happened to the water had contaminated him rapidly they were simple minded easy to fool and easy to give in.

Charging into a dead run for the command center, Dan'ruk was desperately tailing after him. "Warchief, what's wrong?"

"Put the men under strict orders, no water not clensed by shaman or priest!" Thrall yelled back to Dan'ruk disappearing into the command post. He had a sickening feeling he knew what his old friend was planning.

He threw open the command center door to find Jaina waiting, calmly. Alarm flashed in her blue eyes, as she walked over to Thrall. "What did you find?"

"Hellscream has succumbed to the blood curse again." Thrall blurted. There was no real political way to say a huge tribe of orcs had been turned into powerful agents of evil. "I think he is trying to contaminate those here."

"The peon…" Jaina concluded. She remember the frothing, crazed creature splattered in blood charging at her, its eyes wild as it roared the name Mannoroth right before she put an ice bolt through its chest. It had even made it a few more steps forward before falling to the ground in heavy spasms before finally a headhunter put it out of its misery.

Thrall nodded stoically. "That's just a small taste of what the demons blood can do to a peon. With the legion, and a force like Hellscream in their clutches our forces cannot stop them all…"

"Don't say that." Jaina began, but Thrall halted her.

"Grom was my secret weapon he knows more about the vile demons than anyone else alive. With his expertise, we would have had a real fighting chance!" He ran a hand through his hair, fighting the disparity that threatened to overwhelm him. "And now, not only must we fight the legion, but my old friend, and constantly be wary of those who many have been turned from drinking the river water! How long can we last when the enemy could be inside the gates, clad head to toe with weapons, just waiting to strike?"

Thrall curled his hands into fist, shaking violently. There was so much in one day that had gone wrong; Thrall didn't even know if it was worth the battle anymore. Would it be better if they waited under the Stonetalon for their lives to end?

Jaina placed a comforting hand on his shoulder, speaking soothingly. It was as if she instinctively knew how to disengage the panic that swelled inside him. "Then there is only one thing to do, we must rescue Hellscream. If all you say is true, we need him desperately."

Her voice soothed him slightly, and he turned to her in surprise. "The blood taint isn't something you can just take from someone; it took years for the leathelgary of my people to render it in a stasis of sorts."

"If he is as important and dangerous as you say, then we truly do not have a choice." Jaina replied. "Do not worry how we will pull him from the taint, I will take care of that, you worry about reaching him and bringing him back here."

"You would do this for us, Jaina?" Thrall asked quietly. He knew some of her past how her brother and been killed in the 2nd war. It couldn't have been easy for her to want to help an orc with the taint literally running through his veins. The things her people had suffered at the hands of blood crazed orcs was enough to understand any reason of not helping

"I do it for Azeroth, Thrall. One great boon the legion has is using our hatreds of one another to divide and conquer us. For now we must put aside those hatreds. Make plans to gather our forces; I give you full leave of my men, with Darren to help you oversee the coming battle."

He placed a hand over hers smiling for the first time that day. He wanted to pull her close and feel her soft lips pressed against his as he thanked her, but fought such emotions back. "Thank you, Jaina. At least I can count on you to keep a level head when I lose mine so easily."

Jaina gave a quiet chuckle and they parted their separate ways to make plans to rescue the orc called Hellscream.


	7. Hellscream

The mass of soldiers was a grand sight as Horde and Alliance set out in the twilight of the day. Thrall and Darren rode in the lead; while behind them knights and wolf raiders kept an even pace each ready and eager for battle. Man and orc marched with singular purpose in the dense grove of ancient trees-get Hellscream. Whatever it took they had to claim the changed orc into their keeping so Jaina could work her plan to draw the dread taint from him.

It was close to midnight before the forces even saw hints of the new Warsong camp that had supposedly been erected by some sort of fountain. The foot prints of peons in the foul mud, freshly hewn tree stumps, the faint smell of smoke lingering in the cool air all told the tale that another camp was nearby. But even before then, Thrall could feel the disgusting magic of the nether oozing about them; it was rank and foul, but so powerful he could feel it on his skin like cobwebs drifting across his bright green flesh making Goosebumps prickle the back of his neck.

The woods seemed darker, almost tainted with an encroaching blackness that sucked everything out of the earth. Even the lilac eyes were not to be found trailing them as they strode warily through the forest. No night bird sang its mournful nocturnal tune, no animal prowled the brush; all was…dead or dying as they marched nearer to their goal.

Tiny yellow dots flickered in the blackness before them as they came upon their destination. The silhouettes of orcish watchtowers spiraled towards the velvet black sky, as brazier atop each lookout station danced in the soft night breeze. Sounds like frenzied chanting rose faintly from the encampment, along with the pounding of drums in some vile ritual. Thrall could only imagine what was happening past the wooden gates of the fel-orc camp. A sacrifice to their demon masters, a celebration of power? With a low curse Thrall grimaced, banishing the thought away, he would find out son enough.

Clearing his throat once the Warcheif made a low rumbling howl like a wolf crying to the hidden moon; the signal for the troops behind them.

With a flick of his hand, Dwarven riflemen and Darkspear headhunters stalked off in the foul dark to take their vantage places when the assault began. Wolves of the raiders and the knight chargers pawed the dewed ground in expectation and nervousness, swaying their heads eagerly from side to side. Puffy clouds of misty vapor exhaled from their noses as their breathing quickened in tandem with their masters.

Low murmurs could be heard as soldiers prayed to their favored deities, as armor jangled slightly from them touching good luck charms or sacred trinkets in preparation to go up against such a foe that stood behind the gates that seemed to lead to the nether itself.

"Quiet back there." Darren whispered raising a hand for absolute quiet. Although it was routine to give the men a few moments to make their peace and rally their courage, no noise could be afforded as they stood in the camoflauge of the black wood. All it would take was one fel-orc to notice them and the surprise attack would be a bloody massacre that stained the forest floor.

The movement stopped but the anticipation was palpable hanging thick in the cool air like fog. All was silent for long minuets as the ranks prepared for battle, the hearts thudded faster, and sweaty hands gripping weapons and reigns, mounts pawing the wet earth, all eyes forward, ready and waiting.

"Now!" Thrall cried out, breaking the solemn quiet like a peal of thunder that rang through out the forest.

Spurring Icefang, he let out a savage roar, charging in-between the Warsong scout towers like some sort of ancient protector raised from the sacred glades to battle the foulness seeping into the land of Ashenvale.

Sentries from atop the towers looked down astonished to see the forest suddenly become alive with foe that raced to their gates. Shouts erupted from their mouths, only to be stopped short by an arrow or bullet as the Headhunters and Riflemen took aim in silencing the eyes of the encampment.

The battle cry was deafening as the forces rushed to the foul base. Men raised their weapons high to the night sky, rallying their strength as they plowed into the maw of evil.

From the inside, the tainted orcs looked to one another in confusion, blinking dumbly at their comrades in puzzlement. One even tilted his head up to see if any ominous clouds were hovering above, that would bring rain, billowing over head, only to see sentries fall from their wooden perches atop the towers to gruesome heaps on the ground.

"We're under attack!" One sentry managed to gurgle before toppling from the guard tower; his hands still clutching his arrow punctured throat.

Cries of rage and eagerness for blood rose up from the orcs within as they grabbed nearby blades and shields racing to the gates. Their eyes were blood red, with thin lines of crimson mist drifting from the edges. They looked as demons themselves, painted in sacrificial blood that still dripped in long crimson lines down their bodies and glimmered in the firelight as they waited upon the foe.

Outside the wooden fortress, Thrall galloped head long to the high iron and wooden gates. He could feel the spirits and the ancestors rallying around him to give him strength and the power he needed this night. Magic of the elements flowed through his blood as he called upon the spirits of air through the roars of soldiers. Lighting charged through his hand bursting from his palm in a blindinf orb of light as he sent it speeding to the fortified gate.

The force of such magic attacking the wood and iron blew the gates asunder in a myriad of splinters and charred debris that zipped through the air in dangerous shards of smoldering jagged timber knocking many fel-orcs who had gathered on their back or sent sprawling feet away to land in sickening crunches. Thrall and Darren sprinted through the falling debris like the hand of judgment itself; unafraid and glorious in the heat of combat coming down hard upon the foe.

Darren leapt off his charger skillfully, swinging his blades into an upward arch slicing an oncoming orc, wielding a huge two-handed axe, cleanly in two. Another leapt up with nothing but blood rusted gore stained spikes attacked to his chain-mail gauntlets looking to literally spear or knock Darren's head off his shoulders. Bringing his blades in front of him, Darren grunted in pain as the orc rushed blindly into the sharp steel of his blades forcing him to go down to one knee at the sudden weight crushing towards him. The orc screamed, not in pain, but more as if in fury of not being able to slaughter Darren with his fists. Writhing upon the steel cursing and still attempting to land a hit on the human, the crazed orc fell limply to the ground in a broken heap as Darren pushed the gargantuan body away with his boot.

Three more took its place roaring out the name of their demonic master like a chant as they rushed him. Darren began hacking and slashing with abandon; the spy-master light on his feet as he kept agile around the hulking green savages knowing one lucky hit would be the end of him as they wouldn't take a minute to swarm his injured body before he could recover.

A lightening bolt suddenly zapped one of Darren's foe right into the chest sending the surprised orc flying into another on coming group making them all reel back as they caught the brunt of their comrade's weight.

"Stop wasting time, Darren, we must reach Hellscream!" Thrall cried out, plowing his way through a knot of orcs.

His mount Icefang fought bravely by his side, biting and clawing with abandon at any fel-orc unlucky enough to be caught by her razor sharp claws and fangs. Her snow white coat was flecked with green and red as she dove into the fray as strong as any orc or human.

The orcs and humans spearheaded their way to the towering clan hall where Hellscream was sure to be watching and ordering his men. Thrall was practically doused in Warsong blood, as they reached the clan hall. He could barely hold onto his hammer with his blood slicked hands, and all around him men slipped into the crimson puddles of mud and blood only to rise again facing a new foe or never to lift up as a weapon came down upon them.

"Thrall." Grom deep bass growled calmly stepping out from the half built clan hall.

His wicked blade was drawn as he held it loosely in his iron grip; eyes blood red unlike the warm maple Thrall had always seen scanned him indifferently. It seemed like a different person from the orc he called blood brother only months ago. The headstrong but always noble Hellscream he had looked up to when he found they were the last free orc tribe untamed by humans internment camps. This was not the Grom Hellscream he knew.

"We've come to save you, Grom." Thrall stated grimly. Even though the fray was out in full, the screams of dying and wounded with the sickening sounds of blades thrusting through bodies or mace cracking skulls and breaking bones with cringing snaps and crunches, all that Thrall could see in that moment was his old friend twisted into some gruesome shade of himself.

Grom furrowed his sweat stained brow angrily clutching his blade hilt. "Save me? Thrall, I don't need saving. While you have vainly attempted to escape your fate I have excepted my destiny. Its high time you did as well, little brother. Fight on the winning side! Our master Mannoroth will reward us with blood and spoils when we bring this world to its knees and leave nothing but ashes under our heels!"

"I am fighting for the right side!" Thrall argued, circling the crazed Grom. "And the last I knew, no orc of the Warsong was slave to anyone, man or demon!"

Grom stood rigid taken slightly aback by Thrall's words. A brief flicker of the old Hellscream seemed to shadow the strange new blood crazed Grom before being drowned in the crimson of the demons blood once more.

Thrall took out his Doomhammer twirling it expertly in his grip, the weight, the feel, all felt right in his hand as it had since the first time he had wielded it. The deadly mace began to pulse and glow a faint light blue, as Thrall chanted the spell to charge the ancient weapon.

Grom gauged him intently, his crimson eyes narrowing as he scowled upon the Warchief. "So be it, little brother." He growled, brandishing his blade. The steel twinkled in the firelight, its black tassels on the end fluttering in the ash wafted breezes.

Grom let out a blood curdling roar, charging Thrall, his body tensed preparing on the first strike against the one he jokingly called, little brother. At the last minuet, from the faintly lit corner of his eye he saw Darren rushing him from the side, but it was far to late to halt himself and he went down in a jumble of plate, black leather and swords as Darren tackled him to the ground.

Soldiers immediately jumped in securing Grom with heavy enchanted chains forged by fire and magic, while others kept the tainted forces at bay from reaching their twisted leader.

"Pin him down! We need a mass teleportation now!" Thrall cried out using chain lightening strikes on the ever coming blood frenzied orcs. The blinding streak of lightening jump from fel-orc to fel-orc. The vile stench of burned flesh and boiling blood filled the air as the tainted orc still came upon them like rabid animals with no plan, no strategy, with just the primal urge to kill whatever they could get their blood hungry hands upon. They had no fear for their lives as spittle flecked their lips, and blood coated hands, as they plowed murderously onward.

A human mage yelled out a powerful spell on a scroll with a panicky shrieked voice over the fray, and in mere moments the forces were back in the human orcish encampment. Grom threw off and bucked those who crawled over him, he jerked at the chains around his body that dug into his brown flesh as they dragged him.

"Thrall, you coward, you're fighting along side humans! Have you finally shown your true nature as nothing but a pink-skin lapdog?" Grom screeched in fury, as more people rushed to grab his chains. He had the strength of an ogre bucking and pulling with out any regard sending human and orc alike sprawling in all directions as he tried to free himself from the magical bonds that wrapped around his body.

"Bring him over here, Thrall." Jaina beckoned calmly.

The arch-mage was standing in a peculiar circle surround by torches and mage light that lit up the night in their bright luminescence. The sorceress forced herself not to tremble at the sight of the towering orc, slavering and foaming as he ranted curses upon them all and fought to be free from his bonds. She had to remain calm, even when facing this blood-crazed orc, always in control; that was the key.

The arch mage had erected a large circle set with green stones jutting up from the leaf strewn ground, and one red crystal lay buried slightly in the center of the circle. Grom spotted Jaina as he looked upon the odd circle, his eyes slitting dangerously as he snarled and spat vile curses at the sorceress before jerking his head back to Thrall. "This is the pink skin that you serve, little brother? This is even more pathetic than I thought! At least your old master Blackmoore was ruthless, not some quivering girl in a dress!"

He was dragged to the circle as the brawniest soldiers clung to the chains for all they were worth. Jaina stepped into the circle with the raging orc, unafraid and serene her hand folded delicately in front of her. "I am here to help you, Grom Hellscream." She explained soothingly, more for herself than for him.

"You can help me by dying!" Grom snarled putting on an extra burst of energy that sent five soldiers crashing to the earth, lashing out at Jaina. His plated fist met Jaina's shoulder with a thunderous strike sending the sorceress sprawling backwards. Thrall cried out angrily sending a bolt of energy straight at Grom, causing the Warsong leader to fall to his knees. Brother or not, he felt his blood boil when he saw Jaina struck, he was surprised he had so much restrained not to fling his whole power at Grom and incinerate him in a fiery crescendo of molten lava.

"Hold him tighter," Thrall growled as Jaina rose shakily to her feet.

Jaina's right shoulder dribbled with blood, her robe torn revealing the red brushing flesh beneath as the fabric sopped up the crimson liquid. Using her staff for support she walked back to Grom grimacing in pain. "I can only help if you'll let me help you, Grom. Think of your people, fight the taint. You know it is evil, that nothing good can come of it holding you enthralled with its foul magic's running through your veins. Let it go."

Holding out her hand she began chanting. The air became alive with magic; the green stones levitated from the ground, a magical sapphire stream connected them all in wispy lines forming a physicial circle. Each stone then conjured another blue stream that connected their magic's to Grom pulsing in a steady rhythmic like a heart beast. The streams of blue slowly changed to red as each passed through the raging Hellscream.

Grom bucked and heaved more than ever at his bonds to get to the concentrating sorceress. Man and orc were flung every way as he struggled to move from the circle and its beams of light. Gnashing his teeth and snarling, his eyes were wild with rage and blood. "Mannoroth will kill you for this; he will rend your spirit in two and slowly devour your soul, human!" Grom cried his breathing labor as he sucked in huge bellows of air.

Through all the chaos all Thrall could do was stare at Jaina. It was then he knew why they called her one of the most powerful mages on Azeroth. Her brow was furrowed in concentration; it didn't even appear she noticed the world around her or the orc inches from her face screaming bloody murder. The magical stream burned brighter with the taint until Thrall thought he would go blind staring at them. Suddenly, they changed course from Grom to the ruby stone in front of him.

Grom let out a yell so sharp and profound, it made the hair on Thralls neck stand on end. Then it was over. It was so sudden, the people restraining Grom toppled forwards with the sudden slack on the chains tumbling into little mounds. Hellscream fell to his knees, his body quivering and covered in blood and sweat. The only sounds were his deep ragged breaths as he looked down at the earth.

Thrall took a few wary steps to him; his doom hammers still out and threatening in case it was some sort of ruse. "Grom?" He spoke his old friends name like a soft question.

The orc turned his head slowly to Thrall; his eyes were back to the warm brown color Thrall recognized. He no longer looked like a savage stranger, bent on tearing the world to rags but the old Grom.

"Thrall…" Grom began hoarsely but found himself to weak for such ventures.

Thrall looked to Jaina who leaned heavily on her staff and breathing hard as if she had just been in a long battle. "I've siphoned off most of the taint into that blood crystal. Not all but he appears to be in control of his wits once more." She flashed Thrall a forced smile that quickly turned into a gasp of pain. Placing a hand on her shoulder the blood was still bubbling out of the wound and on the earth "Now if you all will excuse me, I'm going to pass out."

With that her knees buckled and she went crashing to the earth in an unconscious heap.

Her forces raced to help their indomitable leader, but Thrall picked up the limp sorceress, taking her into the infirmary. She felt tiny in his grasp, and light as air, her face peaceful and serene as if even unconscious she knew she'd performed a job well done. By the spirits, she had saved a race from falling back into their old ways of evil and brutality, Thrall thought as he looked down upon her.

Taking her to the bustling infirmary he laid her down upon the linen mats gently, careful not to agitate the wound to much. Kneeling down in front of her, he lovingly moved a tendril of flaxen blood matted hair from her face, smiling down upon her. Without Jaina his people might have truly slipped back to their demonic masters and help bring about the darkness. It seemed that no one understood the gravity of what had been done or how much power it had taken to bring Grom back to his state of sanity.

It was then he knew, without a doubt, he loved her.

"Thank you, my friend." He stroked the side of her cheek tenderly. There was much to be done, but Jaina had forged the way through the darkness by saving Hellscream. Swallowing what felt like a boulder in his throat, he fought the urge to kiss her upon her forehead. Instead he smiled weakly before rising to see about Grom. "Thank you." He echoed again, and walked out.


	8. Two Battles to Fight

The dawn came as bright as any had ever seen in the shaded glades of Ashenvale. All around the forest life stirred with vigor as if some foul growth had been hacked away from the ancient roots of the towering trees, allowing the land to thrive once more. Golden rays shone through hazy curtain of mist amongst the boughs on which the birds sang their tunes so lively and carefree one could almost here the words of glorious reawakening in their song.

Sleek beautiful stags covered in short brown fur nibbled upon the dewed grass looking majestic and regal as lords of the forest in the early dawn. They dashed through the secrets paths of the woods between the towering monoliths as if running to tell the rest of the hiding creatures the vileness that had been seeping into their sacred home had been banished.

Around the camp the solider milled about happily with one another eating steaming bowls of oatmeal and tankards of scalding tea in the chill of morning. There was little tension around the orcs and humans this day; all felt as if a loathsome weight had been lifted off their shoulders and repelled back to the deepest pits of darkness. There were no caustic hateful glances thrown in every direction, no slurs mumbled under breath between sips of warm tea, but a true camaraderie that bloomed between human and orc.

It wouldn't last, Grom knew as he gazed upon the soldiers in the camp grimly his eyes searching the mass of warriors. He stood alone upon the wooden ramparts, as a silent spectator of the glorious day. A deep frown was etched into his hardened leathery face as he sighed, turning away from the orcs and humans who were attempting to cross their language barrier with a small joke, and back to the glorious forest teeming with the life that had sprung up overnight.

With a grunt he leaned his elbows on the wooden siding watching the greenery of Ashenvale intently with his maple eyes. No, what had happened when the human had clensed him of the vile taint wasn't a victory per say; this was a tactical retreat for that vile mud spawn who writhed in the nether, Mannoroth. He would return one day, and bring new tactics to tempt Grom into succumbing to his old primitive nature once again.

If nothing else could be said about Mannoroth he was clever, and knew how to manipulate and prod one's fear so that they made a terrible decision.

Grom's hands curled into tight fists as he remembered long ago supping the bright green demons blood from the bowl with his fellow chieftains on Draenor. The demon looking upon them is wicked satisfaction as they so foolishly let themselves be governed by fear, to think that having demons fight along side their ranks would out weigh any fate that could fall upon them!

He could not allow that to happen once more, never again would he deliver his people into the vile slavery of the Legion, he would die before he'd let that happen.

"What are you thinking about, old friend?" Thrall's gravely voice rumbled behind the brown skinned orc.

Placing a heavy hand on the elder orcs shoulder, Thrall moved a few steps to stand beside him looking out upon the lively majesty of the sacred wood. He had known Grom long enough to know when something was troubling him. Ever since Jaina had clensed his soul he'd been reserved and taciturn, always gazing out into the misty distance at if there were eyes looking back at him.

Grom managed a thin smile that was almost ghost like as he turned to his 'little brother'. "You already know the answer, Thrall." He replied simply, allowing another sigh to pass his thick lips, the smile disappearing back into a sorrowful frown. Brown eyes went back to searching the distance critically before he resumed speaking. "We've dealt a major blow to that vile flesh sack, Mannoroth, but we haven't beaten him; not by a long shot."

Mannoroth was a millennia year old demon that had been plotting and scheming since he had first been crawling through the nether, he would not go down so easily. There were always tricks the worm could pull to bring the orcs back into the folds of the Legion.

"What does it matter?" Thrall tried to chuckle slightly but failed in his hopes to sound optimistic. "Jaina bled your taint away, he cannot affect you now. With your expertise, the demons will be in for a bloody brawl if they want to crush this world."

"Always seeing the bright side of things aren't you, pup?" Grom snorted sending a plume of warm vapors into the cool morning air. "Your human took what I had so foolishly drunk at the fount, not what's has been running through my veins for years Thrall, years…" His shoulders slumped as his voice trailed off ponderously, he sounded very old, and very tired as if he had been carrying a heavy burden on his back for decades.

With a stalwart grunt he straitened his broad shoulders once more, the sudden flash of aging passing away like the mist being evaporated in the suns golden glow. He could not rest yet, he had a job to do. "It is a taint that will run in the orcs blood for all eternity if I do not chop of the head of the vile worm that poisoned us."

Thrall stood silently, gauging his blood brother intently with cerulean eyes. All glory was lost from the tranquil morn, as the Far Seer suddenly realized the trail of Grom's thoughts. "You mean to find Mannoroth and slay him." He concluded grimly, catching his friends morose frown.

"It is the only way I can break the crimson chains of our people, little brother. I, the last living chieftain of those who bent knee to the demons." Grom nodded determinedly. He looked at his calloused battle worn hands in disgust, a snarl playing across his hard face. "When I and the other chieftains drank the blood we willing hauled our people into slavery, something no orc should find himself in. To reclaim my honor I tossed away to that demon long ago, I will kill Mannoroth, and free myself for good of his taint!"

He was determined, Thrall could see the blazing glint of fire that flecked in his old friends eyes; where nothing but the earth swallowing him up whole and closing again would stop him, and even then he'd probably dig his way up! "Then I will fight by your side, Grom Hellscream. We will battle as blood brothers upon the field of honor, till we perish or our people our freed." Thrall replied solemnly, placing a fist to his black plated chest in a sacred oath.

It was his duty as Warchief to go along for such a sacred tasks, he was bound by blood to Grom to partake of such a battle.

A roar of delight escaped from Grom as he slapped Thrall on the back heartily nearly making the Warchief spill from the high perch. Instantly Grom was transformed from silent and brooding to loud and battle hungry; eager to be in combat. "Let us go then, little brother, I know where the foul worm crawls in these wood. I still feel enough of his foul blood in my body to lead us to him. We shall free our kin finally of all the poison I have begotten them. The orcs will be a fully free people!"

The elder orc, struck his fists to the shaded sky and yelled out his battle cry stirring birds from their perches and making soldiers look up, hands instinctively going to their weapon hilts, their eyes narrowing suspiciously to Hellscream as if expecting him to become a crazed blood tainted monster once more.

Grom paid them no mind traipsing down the wooden ramp to the ground, he was to exuberant to care, to know that finally he would right a wrong so long forged in their history. For all the years he and his clan had dwelled in the thick wilds of the eastern kingdoms hiding from humans, living with the guilt everyday of his life upon Azeroth, he would skulk no longer but hold his head high with honor regained.

Thrall couldn't help but grin proudly as he watched his friend march briskly to the cluster of orcish living quarters to prepare for his fight against the demon.

Yet despite the indomitable Grom's sudden change Thrall couldn't help but see the fact that they were going up against an ancient behemoth bloated with a dark evil that had the power to burn entire worlds. More importantly, how was he going to explain to Jaina he was accompanying Grom to fight such a beast? The sorceress did not understand orcish customs or ways of honor to the degree Thrall did. How would she react to the knowledge that he was leaving and might never come back? After all he was basically the one keeping his forces from severing their ties with the humans and disappearing into the Kalimdor wilds.

Mumbling a quiet prayer to the spirits under his breath that came out in a small milky puff he pleaded to the ancestors that she would understand.

~8~8~

The sorceress watched the pair of burly warriors leave in the cool of the day. Their strides were in sync as they marched into the darkening woods with only their weapons strapped to their backs, glimmering in the last rays of day. Thrall had come to her earlier explaining the situation and why it was so important to come along and bring the dread demon Mannorth down.

While such concepts of only going alone in the name of honor instead of taking troops seemed foreign to her, the arch-mage was never one to defy others traditions, though to say she did not have her doubts about such a mission would have been a lie.

But she trusted Thrall's judgment on the matter, even when she herself was skeptical. That was the definition of trust; wasn't it, to accept a persons word with out understanding? But there was something else, she knew, other than skepticism; worry?

A pang went through her stomach at the thought that this might be the last time she saw the bright green skinned orc named Thrall. What if he became tainted? What if he was injured and lay dying at the demons feet or worse and subject to agonizing tortures that made her skin prickle just thinking of them.

A delicate hand went to the necklace he had given her under the jagged peaks of the mountain. The feel of the cold ivory fang soothed her somewhat as the pair of orcs became near invisible in the thick foliage of the shaded glades.

"Be safe, Thrall." She whispered fervently almost in a prayer. Her eyes caught the last hint of his gold and black armor against the suns sheen, and for a moment she swore he turned back to look at her.

Clutching the amulet tighter, she flickered her gaze into the distance of where they were headed, their seemed an ominous air there now, like the blackness had come back again, watching and waiting. Letting a worried sigh pass her lips she tried hard not to look concerned in front of the men.

As she finally descended from the ramparts she felt shaky though strolled confidently to her command tent. Before shifting the tent flaps, the arch-mage took one last look at the gates, closed tight, and set with a heavy guard. Her heart felt squeezed in a vice knowing what Thrall was about to come upon.

She blinked back the mist of tears from her eyes forcing herself to be strong. She didn't know if she could handle loosing another man her heart yearned for. "Please come back to me." She pleaded hoarsely, the disappeared inside.

~8~8~

"This is it…" Grom growled as they finally stopped around midnight.

The pair faced a dark gorge; gray juts of sharp rock surrounded the entrance like jagged teeth ready to tear into them when they walked into their maw. Mist hung inches from the desecrated ground like thin gauzy silk hanging upon the air, adding an even more ominous look to the accursed gorge.

Hellscream sighed, turning slightly to Thrall. "You don't have to do this, little brother. It is my fight; you must lead your forces."

The Warchief shook his head grimly, staring at the dangerous gorge set before them. "As Warchief it is my Duty-

"Duty is damned!" Grom hissed angrily, his eyes flashed briefly in a touch of crimson flecking his brown orbs from being so close to the demon but he shook it off. "There are bigger things at stake than this; the fate of the world. You must lead your people in defense, you must not abandon the human, she will need you more than you know before this is all over."

Thrall arched a thick eyebrow at Grom, a hand going to his weapon. He had never heard his friend talk so cryptic. "What do you mean Jaina will need me more than I know?" He asked suspiciously.

Grom smiled thinly then, only for a moment a faint chuckle passing his lips like a whistle of wind. He mumbled something that Thrall couldn't pick up, but a panicked voice inside him told him to let it go. Fearful his old friend might have gotten wind of some emotion lurking deep inside his soul he turned back to face the hungry gorge before them.

A devious chuckled suddenly gurgled before them turning both orcs attention back to the task at hand.

Brandishing his blade, Grom tested the fine edge with a calloused finger making sure it was sharp as ever. It whistled through the wind as he made a few practice swings expertly then pointed to the misty gorge. A murderous growl escaped his throat, so lupine, if Thrall hadn't known better he'd said it was from a wolf. "Now, Thrall, let's kill a demon…"

~8~8~

"Milady, you must rest." Sarah stated sternly to the franticly working Jaina. While some people paced, shifted uncomfortably, or had nervous ticks, Jaina worked when worried.

The sorceress leaned over the large command table, bending hard to the task of marking out all the landmarks they'd passed, and reading pages long scout reports by the human and orcish forces.

The arch-mage sighed, scrawling a few words down in her sharp hand writing, not even looking back to see her old friend. "In a few minutes, Sarah." She replied in a half mumble, her eyes overlooking the roughly sketched map of Ashenvale.

"You said that an hour ago, and the hour before, and so on." The servant countered sharply insistent like a scolding parent to a petulant child. Her tone softened slightly, a half smile etching into her face, as she sighed at the sorceress. She knew very well what was bothering the arch-mage. "Have a little faith, Jaina; your orc in black armor will come back to you."

The only sound heard was Jaina's quill dropping to the table as she jerked around to look at Sarah, her eye almost in panic. Had her ever loyal friend seen into her heart so easily, had she some how said something not knowing that she let an inkling of her feelings slip away into the open?

"What do you mean by that?" She stammered quickly, looking like she had just been found accused of some heinous crime.

Sarah smiled innocently containing a hearty laugh but her eyes twinkled in mischievous knowing. "With out Warchief Thrall the orcs might leave the fight is all I meant, missus." The servant feigned confusion cocking her head slightly to the side, shifting her hair slightly across his ruddy face. "What'd you think I meant?"

Turning around to face the messy table filled with scrolls and maps the arch-mage shrugged forcing the tremor in her tone not to warble out of her dry throat. Picking up the quill she dipped it into the ink-pot resuming her worried work. "Nothing at all, just not thinking strait, tired I suppose. Maybe you're right I could use a break in a few minutes." She replied quickly hoping her words would mask the near panic she'd almost had.

If any one, human or otherwise began to realize how she was beginning to see Thrall…The arch-mage contained a cold shiver at the thought, banishing the frightening idea away with a slight shake of her head.

"Good." Sarah nodded pleased before turning to walk out of the crowded tent. "I'll be back shortly with tea."

Jaina barely heard the tent flaps shift as the dutiful servant strolled out into the shaded encampment. Even though she knew Sarah meant well, and was more than likely right, she couldn't stop, not when Thrall was out there going head to head with the demon. She wouldn't stop until he was standing face to face with her, his soft tusky grin beaming down at her, his calloused hand on her shoulder.

"Jaina." A cold raspy voice suddenly hissed her name from behind making the sorceress go rigid.

It didn't matter that she hadn't heard anyone come in, or felt a sense of magic stir her own; all that mattered was that she recognized the voice even in its odd rasp that seem to chill the room- Arthas…

Trembling she forced herself to turn to where the voice hailed, praying beyond all reason it was some cruel trick of the mind that had suddenly begun to plague her. Insanity would have been better than if he truly was there, some how, some way. But there he stood, garbed in icy blue and black plate not unlike his old paladin armor, but far more sinister. Grinning skulls covered in eerie blue lights around their empty eye sockets decorated his pauldrons. Foreign runes inscribed the armor in strange and devious script that swirled around the blue and black plate. A blade, so un-like the hammer he had carried from what seemed like a life time ago, rested loosely in his plated grip its glowing tip just barely touching the ground. His once golden hair like her own had turned an ashen white like fallen snow, his skin a sickly pale that made his still startling blue eyes stand out almost like twin beacons in some gray fog.

He smiled tenderly at her, a small gesture that nearly made her knees give way. Like the Arthas of old he could still make her weak. Swallowing hard, she attempted to speak but no words could pass the shock that seemed to lodge in her throat.

"Surprised?" He asked in amused tones, an ivory brow going up slightly. "I admit I have undergone some…changes since last we saw one another." Arthas finished nonchalantly, swiping a fleck of dirt from his breastplate.

As if he could forget the last time they met; him gazing down upon her and Uther as ugly gray clouds curled above them, as if the elements had known what bloodshed had been about to be had. He barred Uther's paladins of the Silver Hand, furious that they would not ride in and 'purge the unclean'. She had watched the elder paladin angrily gallop off with his men and turned to follow when he spoke her name.

The sorceress could still clearly hear the one word, her name, piercing the silence in a mixture of confusion and pleading. She had paused, and had almost turned around, but if she had, she knew without a doubt she would have gone with him into Stratholme. Instead she had whispered a pathetic apology and had run off like a coward to hide from the evil her once love would reign down upon the unsuspecting folk of Stratholme.

"What are you doing here?" The sorceress finally managed to choke out, her heart back flipping wildly, as it always had when he was near.

The memories of the acrid stench of flesh and ash were still fresh in her mind. Jaina could still feel the burning of her lungs as she inhaled that un-holy smoke that churned from the gutted city. Bodies lain everywhere, hacked to bits and pieces that clogged the gutters and stacked in gruesome heaps. Blood coated the cobble stone in crimson sheen against the fires as she had looked upon the carnage Arthas had wrought.

At first she had been in denial, no way could Arthas have committed these atrocities…yet here they were beholden for all to see what the prince of Lorderan had done with a handful of men and his bare hands. Never would she be able to wash that foul memory from her mind.

"What am I doing here?" Arthas echoed with a caviler snort. Outstretching his hand he swung out as if to show her where she was. "The better question is what are _you_ doing here, Jaina? This is no place for you, my love, come with me and we can banish this fools errand and leave this distasteful mess behind."

The arch-mage took a wary step forward, her brow furrowed. "What?" A distasteful mess? She was trying to save all of Azeroth, and a part of her whispered she had been trying to save him. That was one of the reasons she had left the Eastern Kingdoms, wasn't it? To leave the tragedies her Arthas had dealt to the land behind, and find a way to regain the old Arthas she loved, and would always love.

"Leave this behind, Jaina. Join us, and be happy once more." Arthas replied coaxingly, the icy rasp sounding a little warmer as he held his hands out to her as if she would run into his cold grasp. "Don't you remember are strolls down at Lordemer lake? Making wishes on the gold coins we tossed in the Dalaran fountain, walking through the wheat in Dalson fields in the autumn? We can have that again, only in a new world of our making where we are the supreme masters! A world where death reigns!"

His cerulean eyes were wild and crazed, a sinister smile pinioned on his pale clean shaven face making Jaina take a step back in horror. The Arthas she had known would have never talked like that. "What's happened to you, Arthas?" She whispers aghast as her body met the wooden table, now with no where to back away from her long ago lover.

"Power, Jaina, power and insight." He replied simply through his broad insane grin. "Power over the grave, and insight that this world must be purged of all living things. You can have it to; we can be together, king and queen of this polluted world. We would be together…" He whispered stepping forward slowly until inches away from Jaina. "Imagine a world of bliss where there would be no more fighting, no more hatreds, all would be under our banner in the name of the scourge. The world would be one in glorious eternal death, no more problems, no more worries, bliss…we would give you bliss, we would take those troubles from your mind."

Jaina stood enraptured by his words; they sounded light and firm, as the Arthas of old. He no longer looked like a decaying crazed lunatic, but the prince she had known what seemed like a life-time ago. His skin was bronzed from training under the blistering sun, hair flaxen in thick tresses, even his armor was back to it's old blue and white that glistened when polished.

Closing her eyes the sorceress bit her lower lips as if savoring the words that poured from Arthas' mouth. Bliss, no more worries, peace… they resounded through her head pleasantly like chimes that ring in a soft breeze; comforting.

"Join us…" Arthas hissed lowly into her ear, one could almost hear the victorious smirk in his voice. "Let us into your mind, leave the rest of the humans and the orcs; we will pick up from the ashes when all is said and done."

Orcs. The word suddenly rang through Jaina's mind against the soothing corruption bringing her out of the blissful trance like a flash of light. Thrall!

Snapping her eyes open, she found Arthas as he had been when he had appeared in the command tent, gruesome and twisted into a thing she did not recognize and was repulsed by.

"No." She stated blatantly, her blue eyes hardening.

By whatever means, Arthas had come her tempt her into leaving her forces, much how she had learned Mannoroth had lured Hellscream to the fount to abandon their tasks to save their world. She flinched slightly at the thought she had almost gone through with it.

Her one word seemed to linger on the cool air as they stared at one another. A brief flicker of surprise flashed in Arthas' eyes before his face turned into a furious sneer. How dare she defy their will!

"Slut." He spat angrily his blue eyes blazing as he stared her down. "You refuse to right your wrongs by not joining me. It's your fault I'm this way!"

All the arch-mage could do was watch rooted to the spot as the thing that had looked like Arthas lost all hint of the man she had known.

It pointed a finger at her snarling savagely, the breath hot and chill all at once. "If you had gone with me to Stratholme I could have been saved, but you slunk away like that dog, Uther. You could have stopped me from doing all those horrible deeds; you could have rescued me from this!"

Shaking her head, the sorceress tried to combat his venomous words though her voice was unsure and timid facing against such power as the creature before her. "No, I would have succumbed to whatever has scarred your soul, Arthas; I would have fallen with you." It sounded like a pathetic excuse that stammered out her mouth as memories of that day walking away flashed back in her mind.

"It's your fault!" Arthas roared so that Jaina's ear drums rang. It was if he hadn't even heard her, but it mattered not. He knew her better than anyone else had; he knew what would tear at her spirit and demoralize her soul-guilt. "Those thousands dead blood is on your hands, Jaina, because you could not stand beside me and stop me. You always had before; what changed? Did you grow bored of me and had a new lover under your sheets? Was that it; was I not worth the trouble with a new play toy in your life you could rut your nights away with?"

The arch-mage stammered, licking her dry lips with an even drier tongue, unable to form a single sentence but only bits and pieces in the salvo Arthas threw at her bombarding her soul. "No, I didn't…there was no one…not my…"

He grinned wickedly as he yelled at her as if he could see his poisonous words leeching into her. "Your fault! Your fault!"

"I'm sorry." She whispered hollowly, tears welling into her azure eyes before coursing down her ivory face. Was it her fault? Arthas always did have a way of convincing her of things.

A hand went to touch his pale features only to move through like a mirage. The only thing truly there before her was a chill that sent a shiver slithering down her spine.

His image shimmered slightly before laughing cruelly in her face. If he could not lead her to his side, he would torment her soul. "Your fault." He whispered one last time in a devious chuckle.

The words seemed to echo around the room as his image faded into this wisps of nothing then disappear entirely leaving Jaina more alone than she had ever felt.

Dropping to the hard ground, her body shuddered as she wept at the hurtful encounter that ripped at her heart. What once had been Arthas had been molded into some monster that knew how to rip into her soul with startling ease.

Could she have saved him that day if she had turned back? Were the deaths in Lorderan and Stratholme really upon her head? Her tears dripped to the grassy earth as she mourned unashamed at the torture clawing at her spirit. "I'm so, so sorry." She whispered as if he could still hear her. "I'm sorry…"

~8~8~

_A/N: I have always liked to assume while Grom and Thrall went to kill Mannoroth, Jaina wasn't just sitting around doing nothing. She had her own trial to fight. _


	9. The Mourning Heart

Something was wrong, the Warchief knew as he neared the human and orc base. Even though Thrall's heart ached for his old friend now lying at peace with the ancestors reveling in his honor regained for his people, he could still sense through his sorrow a tingling that zipped through his nerves that all was not right.

He walked with a slight limp, clutching his left arm that was still numb and agonizingly sore from the blow Mannoroth had dealt him. After the battle the Warchief had managed to heal his shattered arm and broken ribs after ridding himself of his chest piece; to bad his magic's could not mend his aching soul over the loss of Grom. His mace and cracked black chest plate were slung across his back as he managed to find his way back to the base

As he came into view of the encampment he immediately noticed more guards stationed at their posts, their weapons brandished anxiously in their grasps for trouble. Each face held a worried or angry frown, as they scanned the perimeters with their sharp eyes, finger drumming nervously against wood and steel.

Concern pierced the hulking orc as he strode near, yes something was defiantly wrong. Waving his hands to hail the guard he was instantly locked on by no less than seven watchers, their guns and bows pointed straight at him. He could see their fingers twitch just slightly and the faint click of gun hammers, in only second's hesitation from letting their weapons loose upon whoever came near. What had made them all so tense?

A relived sigh rippled through the guardsmen ranks as they looked down upon the Warchief standing calm and unafraid in the sight of their weapon aimed at him.

Bows and guns dipped slightly as the men looked about themselves embarrassed that they had almost shot the leader of the Horde.

"Well, are you going to stand up there or let me in?" He roared to them good naturedly. What ever had put them on edge, being brisk and snappish about things weren't going to help.

One of the orc scouts peered down behind the gate making a few motions to the invisible watchers on the ground.

Thrall arched a thick brow at that. Jaina had set more men on the inside as well. What exactly had happened while he was away? He tucked the thought away as the gates were heaved open allowing him through to the safety of the encampment.

The guards watched him from above as if he was some kind of decoy and readying to let the enemy spill forth into their gates. Their eyes never left the forest beyond searching the fringes for any sign of foe.

Dan'ruk, as usual, was loitering around the heavily guarded gates dutifully awaiting his teachers return. The Far Seer in training paced anxiously, mumbling to himself, a nervous tick he had picked up from being around humans so much.

It seemed every time he left, something always happened, Thrall thought as he strode through the gates. The satisfactory thump of the heavily enchanted and barred doors was lost to Thrall as he tried to read the situation of camp, but to no avail.

Striding beside his pupil, Thrall gazed him intently, their eyes flashing in a silent conversation that his inspirits had not been wrong. "What happened?" Thrall asked in a whispered growl.

"It's Jaina." Dan'ruk replied at the pair walked agonizingly slow to the orcish tents.

Thrall's heart immediately jerked inside his chest, making his throat dry with fear, but he merely nodded for Dan'ruk to continue, with no hint of emotions on his neutral features.

"The human servant, Sarah, came to that little puke Darren, hysterical that some force was blocking her from getting into the command tent where the Lady Proudmoore worked. As both out forces gathered we could see another pink-skin in the tent with her, but it was as if they were incased in a bubble." Dan'ruk paused as a shiver wormed its way down his spine. "The magic felt desecrated, and vile, so much like the demons, I was nearly sure we would be set upon by the Legion. Instead, we saw their silhouettes through the tent canvas and heard every word they spoke. The humans must have recognized the intruder, for many started cursing in their pig tongue and tried to attack the invisible barrier. I have never seen humans act so savage, or heard them curse a name so much. Arthas they called him. Near the end of the encounter all the figure inside kept screaming to the Lady was, 'your fault, your fault' then vanished leaving the lady Proudmoore sobbing on the floor."

As they walked, the Warchief forced himself not to turn around and race to the command tent where Jaina was still sure to be. He could feel his sprit pulling towards her, his soul yearning to be near her own which he knew instinctively was torn asunder. In some way, he knew she needed him, but he had to honor his old friend first.

The courageous Hellscream had sacrificed his body and soul to free his kin. He had been an ally and friend, a blood brother and confidant. In the diseased land where the blood of Mannoroth pooled, Thrall had called upon the spirits of earth to raise a monolith to the honor of his fallen brother. There, all would know who and what Hellscream had done for the orcish race.

As his people gathered around him, the Warchief took a deep breath, banishing all thoughts of Jaina from his mind, as he spoke of the broken chains to his people.

Inside the command tent, Jaina's shattered heart leapt as she heard the sentries call out Thrall's return. Her shaking hands steadied some what as she heard his distinct growling voice, muffled from far away as he talked to his forces. She couldn't understand the words, but he spoke them proud and strong to his men.

Every so often savage cheer would arise from the orcs as they called the name Hellscream like some war chant.

A ghost of a smile passed the sorceress lips as she realized Thrall and Grom had been successful in their battle in freeing their people. If only she could have been half as strong with her fight. The memory stung as she could still feel the evil magic faintly lingering around the room; it was yet another reminder how terribly she had almost given in, and how his words had affected her so.

It was nothing, she lied to herself, nothing compared to what Thrall and Grom had just endured, freeing an entire people, but that thought never would balm the pain of seeing Arthas again like she had.

~8~8~

It was late in the night before Thrall had managed to slip away from the celebrating orcish encampment. All day songs of victory had been sung, tales of strong orcs told to honor the life of Grom now dwelling with those heroes, and toast of mead to his grand death. They constantly harangued Thrall to tell the tale of Mannoroth demise, over and over as they listened happily to the fate Grom had sought and found. Not knowing however, with each telling it putt a wound in Thrall's heart, but he'd never let his mourning show, not to his people.

Orcs, unlike humans, did not weep for their dead, but praised their death they had found in honorable combat with sword and shield. It was a celebration not mourning, and Grom could have died in no more honorable way.

Ballads of blood and steel still rang about the orc fires in their guttural language as Thrall disappeared into the night. The air was cool now away from the flaring fires, and the press of sweaty orcish bodies, brushing against his skin and bare chest with a slight chill. Scratching his chin as he enjoyed the brief moment of coolness that swept over Ashenvale, the Warchief could still see Jaina's mage lights hovering through the blue tent canvas casting her shadow to the outside.

What could he say to Jaina? He wondered as he slowly trailed towards the command tent.

Visibly flinching, he could only imagine what must have done to Jaina to make her weep as Dan'ruk had told. With a small grunt that sent a cloud of vapor into the air, he strode to the tent, a bit faster than before, the urgency to see her coming back to a roaring inferno.

The sorceress could feel Thrall's magic long before the tent flaps shifted and he quietly strode in. The magical image of her working over the table remained in place as she turned to him, trying to smile, but only managing a slight mournful smirk.

Thrall rubbed the back of his neck roughly as he looked about, nothing; save for a tingling of foul magic ran through the tent, everything looked the same.

"You were victorious, I see." Jaina spoke first to pierce the saddened quiet.

Thrall grinned proudly with a sharp nod, his tusky grin flashing. "The demon lies dead, struck down by Grom's blade. Forever shall the orcs sing of his victory."

"Grom must be over the moon." Jaina replied with a shallow half hearted chuckle that sounded pathetic as it passed her lips.

Thrall's face fell then, his eyes averted as his shoulders slumped, telling Jaina all she needed to know.

"Oh…" Jaina whispered quietly in surprise. Placing a hand on his shoulder, the sorceress squeezed slightly, her tone comforting. "I'm sorry, Thrall."

"We orcs do not believe in condolences, Jaina." Thrall replied quietly. "Thank you for your concern, but Grom perished on the field of battle, there is no greater glory to be had for such a warrior."

Despite those words, he still did mourn for his friend in the private of his heart. Perhaps it must have been his human upbringing, but he desired to speak of his old friend and weep over the loss of such a great warrior. It was un-Warchief like, but he could not stop his emotions from swelling.

"Then I celebrate your friend's victory." The arch-mage said sincerely. "Lok'tar?" She spoke the word like a question almost, her dialect only slightly off.

Thrall smiled sadly at her, offering a small nod. "Lok'tar."

His smiled was quickly replaced as he remembered what brought him there. "I heard you had a visitor this day, an Arthas as he was called?"

Jaina paled at the name, and Thrall cursed himself for his straight forward attitude. The sorceress looked away to the table where she had stood when he had been there, speaking to her. "Yes." She whispered hoarsely.

"Do you know why this thing targeted you." Thrall persisted determined even though he saw the heart break smear across his usual controlled features. Even though it hurt her, they both knew they had to get to the bottom of what had happened, and figure out a way that it would not do so again.

Sighing, Jaina nodded slowly, her eyes never leaving the spot. "Because once we had been good friends; best friends. We had been lovers. No, far more that that, we had been in love. He even proposed to me once, I nearly accepted. I…" She paused, suddenly realizing to whom she was pouring her heart.

Thrall stood by her side, looking calm and understanding. There was no judgment in his cobalt eyes, no suspect grimace etching unto his tusked lips. He was Thrall, wise, knowing, compassionate, the bearer to her emotions better than any she'd ever known.

The Warchief, sized her up once more knowing she would never look upon him as weak if he displayed his broken emotions for a friend lost from the realm of the living.

With another spell that quickly masked what was going on in the tent, they sunk to the cooled grass, and bore their hearts to the other.

~8~8~

"Do you still love him?" Thrall asked after Jaina had finished telling her tale.

Her eyes flashed sorrowfully as she licked her lips. She wondered that herself, did she still love Arthas. In her heart she knew she shouldn't after what he had done to his people, but there was always a part yearning for him that dwelt somewhere in her soul. "He was my first love. Some part of me will always love him no matter what he has become." She replied quietly as if her entire camp was outside listening. Most humans would have cursed her for those words, but Thrall listened patiently, no hint of judgment residing inside him.

She had listened to his tale of camaraderie with Grom, learning and fighting beside his old friend, who had always inspired hope into him with no judgment, it was the least he could do to be understanding for her.

Jaina sniffed once shrugging her delicate shoulders. "I'm ashamed to admit it, but it was one of my reasons for coming here. I thought if I left perhaps I could find a way to reverse all the damage he caused. I thought I could pay my penance with sacrifice out in the wilds to save the world."

"Penance?" Thrall's brow furrowed. Instantly he remembered what Dan'ruk had told him about the figure shouting 'your fault'. Shaking his head fiercely he scooted closer to her, his eyes searching hers intently; reading her thoughts. " Jaina, it was not your fault what he did. You did not force him to draw his blade, you did not force him to become what he is. He made his decisions and you made yours."

The sorceress shook her head, letting her flaxen hair fly about. "But what if I made the wrong decision. I saw what he was turning into before Stratholme, and I walked away. What if he was right and I could have stopped it?"

"There are no ifs in this, Jaina." He replied firmly.

She truly did blame herself for what had transpired in the eastern kingdoms. How long had she been carrying such an unneeded burden around on her back?

"You don't know." She stated hollowly, the mist of tears swelling her eyes. "No one knows."

"I do." Thrall growled. Before he quite knew what he was doing, the Warchief wrapped the sorceress into his arms holding her close. Right now, they didn't need anymore word of doubt or even assurance, right now they just needed consolation.

He could feel her body shake as she let the turmoil free from her body. Emotions holed up since she had gazed upon the kingdoms burning were finally torn free in Thrall's grasp. Even though his arm screamed in pain and his ribs ached, he held Jaina, like he would never let her free, she was safe in his grasp, away from harm and trouble. Here, there was no leader of the Alliance or Horde. Simply Jaina and Thrall.

The Far seer suddenly felt a softness press against his bare tear soaked chest. He felt the same softness again, press a little higher on his broad green hide then again. His heart back flipped crazily in his chest as he looked down forcing himself not to tremble to what he was beginning to think.

Jaina kissed his chest again for the four times, each time moving upward. Her hands smoothed across his arms as she meandered slowly up her torso with her kisses.

Ever since Arthas had appeared, she'd only wanted to drown his memory, drown it in anything that would make it flee from her tortured soul and trouble her no more that day. Every time she kissed Thrall she could feel the pain slipping away to nothingness like the remnants of a bad dream, whose terror is gone with the dawn.

Thrall's heart pounded like a war drum as he looked down to watch the sorceress kiss his chest. Her lips found his neck, as she kissed the thick cords that bugled from his skin and under his stubble chin.

His breath was hollow as she felt her full lips press against his chin, and her hands smooth through his black tresses. To say he didn't want to feel her warm lips press against his own would have been the biggest lie he had ever told, having her wrapped in his arms, her breath warm as it slid across his neck and face had him aching for her. But, as her lips brushed against one of his tusks, he stopped himself from tasting her lips, keeping her at bay.

"Jaina." He whispered hoarsely, licking his hungry lips.

The couldn't do this, he knew, they couldn't be like this, it wasn't natural, it wasn't right. Orcs and human were to hate one another, but here she was kissing him, and he wanting desperately to meet his lips to hers.

But they were torn in grief for the losses they'd suffer. They weren't using right logic but letting their emotions run their actions and hidden desires.

Jaina gazed at him, strands of golden hair slightly covering her face, but her eyes clear of tears but no less stricken with sorrow. Her hands gripped his hair as she forced herself not to go on restraining her urges that had built up since they had arrived on the surface from the Stonetalon mountain.

"I want to forget." She admitted hoarsely almost like a plea. " No more weeping, no more mourning, no more of this whole damned thing! Just for tonight, I want to forget everything but you."

There would probably be regret, she knew very well, but that would be a trouble for another time and place. Though at the moment all she desired was to lose herself in his arms and feel his lips upon hers.

He should have argued it, pushed her away and left, but he found that he could not. Her words struck a cord inside of him, with a desire he to shared to loose the thoughts of the tragedies they could not allow to affect them. If all they truly had were one another here and now, then he to would embrace the tranquility of forgetfulness.

Pressing the sorceress against him their lips met in fiery, desperate passion.

His hands not dare move below her waist as she reclined against him, but wandered up her back pressing her close. Her knees clamped around Thralls body, straddling him as they relentlessly crossed the boundary they had so vagrantly broken.

With Jaina's false enchantment up to make it look like only she dwelled in the command tent, no one saw the Lady and Warchief eagerly exploring one another's mouths as the night slowly, as if not wanting to fall away, grew to dawn.


	10. The Morning Heart

_A/N: This took longer to put up than normal because not only did I have midterms this week, not only did I have to finish a research paper, but I was nursing a cold QQ_ ._ Anyway, thanks for all the wonderful reviews, you guys are awesome!_

~8~8~

Morning sunlight filtered into the command tent dappling through the azure fabric casting the secluded sanctuary in a warm glow. Dust particles could be seen dancing in the golden rays that broke through the thick awning of leaves and cloth, the warmth waking the sorceress, Jaina, gently like a light brush against her ivory cheeks.

The arch-mage screwed her eyes shut tighter at the sun spearing into her face. It had been one of the best sleeps shed ever had, and she was loathing waking just yet to deal with her forces.

Stifling a groan, Jaina began searching the space around her with her hands, eyes still shut, as she tried to find her blanket or cloak to toss over her head, ridding the sun away for a few precious minutes. As her hands fiddled about to find anything to banish the dawn away from her, Jaina felt soft but rugged skin under which toned muscles rippled. For one swift and foolish moment the sorceress pictured Arthas as she had seen him many morning in this chambers in Lorderan, then her mind came back to the present, and the night before that rose with a sharp clarity that echoed in her head.

The sorceress eyes popped open despite the blazing sun searing into her retinas. To her horror she found she was lying atop Thrall.

He looked peaceful and content under her, his once onyx braids haven fallen loose around his rugged face. His breathing was even and slow as he still had his hands wrapped around the tiny sorceress' body.

For a few moments all the arch-mage could do was blink rapidly in utter shock, the nights events charging back into her brain like a bolt of lightening that froze her where she lay nestled in his arms. Had she really…?

Slight shifting movements on top of the large green skinned Warchief prodded Thrall into wakefulness. For one reason or another, he truly didn't desire to get up, but lay in his bed roll a few more minutes before duty as Warchief would rile the need to rise and meet his forces.

He rarely was the type to sleep in, but something was different this morning that made him want to lie in the soft bed roll all day loosing himself in a well earned relaxation. Wait; was he in his bed roll? The sudden puzzling thought entered his fogged sleepy brain like a light tap on the shoulder then suddenly transformed into a blow to the gut as remnants of the night came back to life.

His eyes shot open in panic to meet Jaina's own cobalt orbs starting down at him; wide and searching as his own.

For a moment, all they could manage was stunned silence staring at each other as if they were wild curiosities. She was on top of him, and he was under her. The memories of what they had done swarmed in their heads. Flashes of hungrily kissing, their bodies close as they explored new territory, their hands upon one another smoothing across their skin, all became a steady blur of pictures in their minds.

A horn blared through the morning air as a sign for both camps to awaken with the sun, jolting Thrall and Jaina out of their shock.

"I am so sorry." Jaina whispered aghast as if some one could have been at the door listening for movement inside the tent. What would people say if they had seen them like that; nestled comfortably up together, sleeping the day away peacefully?

Thrall leapt up, staggering slightly as he did so, the last embers of sleep dying out. "You're not to blame."

"I don't know what I was thinking."

"I shouldn't have let it happen."

"Completely inappropriate on my part."

"A bane upon my honor."

They avoided eye contact as they mumbled embarrassed apologies trying to untangle the rumpled mess of cloaks they'd used to put under them to keep the forest chill that crept up from the verdant earth at bay.

As they finally came to near separation they met where the cloaks had become entangled by their silver clasps, their hands touching the exact same spot simultaneously.

She scrambled up away from him then, as if he were a poisonous serpent ready to strike, a hand rubbing her face as if just coming out of an all to real dream.

Thrall turned away, a bloom of fiery red coming to his cheeks as he practically tore the two cloaks apart with his strength scrambling out of the tent just before the mass of Horde and Alliance soldiers began to rise from their cots.

What had she done? Jaina watched Thrall creep out of the tent like some shamed specter fleeing from the morning light; the trails of his clock dragging over the dewed grass. Had she just really spent the night in the arms of an orc after they had fallen asleep with the taste of one another on their lips? By the shaking of her hands, and the places where she could still feel his large hands on her body, the answer was undoubtedly yes.

Shame filled her as she realized she had used Thrall to make the memories of Arthas flee. He had been a means to her end that filled her with disgust at herself. She should not have done that to any man, especially Thrall. It could have been any man, couldn't it though, to take her troubles of Arthas away? A part of her told her that was a lie; no man could have possibly done what Thrall had for her that night. He had made her forget, and filled her with a peace she hadn't known in months.

With her weakness finally breaking through her ravaged heart, last night she had opened wide the door which kept them away, she had crossed the boundaries with her lips upon his chest and then his lips.

This was her doing from a broken heart yearning to be mended, and it had been mended by the Warchief of the Horde. She had done the ultimate taboo in human society; she had given her heart to an orc. But not only that, she found that she had no regret in doing so. No matter how hard she tried to use logic on the matter she found that she simply did not feel shame in what had happened with him. Embarrassed, guilty, and a plethora of other emotions in a bubbling vat that brewed inside her, but not regret.

"By the Light, what's wrong with me?" She whispered raggedly, as her eyes stayed stapled to the tent flaps. She couldn't help but wonder what he was trying to make of the whole situation she had initiated so carelessly and grief stricken.

The cold morning air was a welcome to his face that felt as if it were on fire. Carefully he ducked the back way away from the Alliance portion of the encampment using any skill in subtlety he had to keep from being noticed from curious eyes. He hoped anyone who did see him would assume he was just coming from the latrines after a night of drinking and telling tales of Grom.

He breathed a huge sigh of relief as he crossed what seemed like an entire world, and into the relative safety of the orcish living quarters. He let his guard drop slightly as he neared his own tent, preparing to dip inside as if nothing was amiss when a voice hailed him.

"Warchief." Dan'ruk's voice growled almost accusingly making Thrall freeze even though he was the teacher.

He couldn't help but feel like some love struck fool just coming back from a night of passion with a lady love and caught by a guardian who did not and would never approve.

He straightened his shoulders and squared his stubble jaw, trying to focus every bit of command and leadership he could before turning to Dan'ruk sternly. He seemed to glare embers of flame at the young shaman in training making Dan'ruk take a step back, but regretfully not leaving Thrall be as the Far Seer had hoped. "What?"

"I saw you sneak away last night." Dan'ruk continued bravely, making Thrall's throat dry. Did he know, had he seen him break into weakness at the touch of Jaina's soft lips and the sorrow in his heart? "I know you wished to honor your old friend privately, but I wish you would have told me. I to would have desired to honor Grom in a more solemn fashion."

Thrall forced himself not to exhale a huge sigh of relief at Dan'ruk's words. He thought he had gone to pay private homage to Grom's tomb, probably in a more shamanistic fashion.

"Apologies." Thrall coughed to hide the sheer relief in his voice. "If you had told me sooner I would have brought you along."

Dan'ruk shrugged in acceptance to the apology, then his thick brow furrowed in puzzlement looking at Thrall suspiciously. "You must have missed a place to heal yourself after the battle with the demon. You've got strange marks all across your neck." He pointed out reaching to touch them.

Thrall backed away, his face going flush as he put a calloused hand to his neck as if trying to cover them from view.

"Just a few bruises." Thrall lied pitifully sputtering the words. "Gather the men before work, I and the Lady Proudmoore have announcements to make." He finished then quickly plunged inside his tent as if hell nipped at his heels.

Dan'ruk looked to his teacher in confusion as Thrall slipped inside then shrugged. The Warchief was a strange creature, raised by humans and such. He gave it little thought as he dashed about to complete Thralls orders.

~8~8~

It was an hour before either had chalked up the courage to leave their private tents, mainly because they knew they'd have to stand together and talk to their forces. Neither wanted to be seen blushing madly or refusing to meet eye contact, their people weren't stupid, they'd no something had changed. But breakfast time was waning; they also knew they'd be put under suspicion for a no-show.

It happened almost like eternal clock work as they stepped out in their usual wear that was a tad more ruffled than normal. Both faces were walls of natural at the other, but as their eyes met, they couldn't help but read the others thoughts like they had shouted them out loud.

The mass of solders quieted as their leaders stood in front of the rough hewn benches that they sat on devouring their morning meals from wooden bowls.

Thrall gazed at his forces looking at their reaction to see if his was still calm and not blushing or flush from having Jaina so close before he spoke making his voice loud and stern as possible. "Warriors of the Horde, now that we have one foe defeated our battle still continues against the Legion!"

The slight reference to the defeat of the vile beast, Mannoroth, had his people set up a wild cheer to their fallen brother, raising his name to the ancestors. Thrall let it go on for a moment before raising his hand for silence.

"The chapter for our next battle relies on us finding the Dark elves of this shaded wood. We must make contact with them if we have any hope of defeating the Legion."

At that he could see some of his men grouse distempered, stirring their bowls of thick meal. They had no love for the giggling voices and lavender eyes that watched them at night and ambushed their lumber supplies and hunting expeditions. They were more wind the person, as many believed, and none wanted much to do with them, and their wily ways.

"We will send search parties out, with either I or Jaina in the field. The one left here will have full control over the camp-"

He could go no further as a tumult arose at those words. Having the humans work with them was bad enough, taking orders from the humans was terrible when Thrall was there. Were they to listen to the pink-skins when Thrall was not present, should they treat Jaina as their leader if by chance something went awry?

From the other benches the humans laughed raucously at the angry orcs, not realizing the words Thrall had spoken were those Jaina would speak in common. Their laughter died in their throats at her words, the exact same as Thrall's.

No human with breath in his body would let an orc lead them. Better a half blind peasant, without a lick of sense in his head!

Thrall and Jaina cast sparing glances at one another knowing that it would be expected reactions. They had banked on the hatreds of their forces this time.

"There is one other solution." Thrall and Jaina said simultaneously in their respective languages. "Since no force wants to leave the others leader in charge, I and Thrall will go search for the elves together leaving Dan'ruk and Darren in charge while we are away."

Long before the ordeal with Grom they had decided on this course of action.

Although their forces were loyal and brave, they were a little more than headstrong. Meeting and dealing with another foreign race could prove disastrous with one blade swing or one shot fired. They'd traipse across, perhaps sacred ground, maybe defiling religious sights that would lead in no alliance with the dark elves. Out of them all Thrall and Jaina had the most experience in dealing with diplomacy with foreign peoples, and defending themselves against attack.

It had been a gamble, but they had hoped one plan would seem far better than the next, which appeared to be working out smoothly so far.

The murmuring from the forces halted somewhat at the next option. Two leaders for separate peoples, even though they weren't Thrall and Jaina, it would be better than taking orders from a savage or pink-skin.

"We will also not be long in our search, but I can teleport us back at any time should trouble arise." Jaina added to sweeten the deal.

They wouldn't be gone long, and now with an assurance they'd return it seemed everyone was on board the plan.

That just left one minute detail; how to work together after what had transpired in the tent last night. How could they search through the forest together when they could barley look one another in the eyes for more than two seconds with out turning away.

But it wasn't about them, they both knew it was about saving Azeroth; their embarrassed feelings towards one another would have to bear it no matter how much it ate them inside.

~8~8~

They set off in the early afternoon; packs slung to their backs and strict instructions to the two lieutenants left in charge while they searched. Darren had a rune Jaina had given him long ago for emergencies, and she had crafted one for Thrall which he in turn had given to Dan'ruk.

The two hated foe, stood apart from one another, each holding the smooth black stone like runes that pulsed with the sorceress' magic in their grips. Even though they hated one another they had a task to do while their leaders were away, and nothing would prevent them from carrying out their commanders orders, not even hate.

They set off at a brisk pace open to search for tracks from the elves who spirited around the shaded glades. They needed to learn patterns and techniques to hunt them down.

It was growing dusk, when the pair finally had a chance to rest, both tired from their searches and their hard fought battle to avoid one another at all cost.

They had to talk about it, Thrall knew as he let his pack sink to the leaf strewn ground with a dull thud. He followed grunting tiredly as he plopped down, feeling the muscles in his back tight.

"So do you feel like talking about it now?" Thrall asked after they sat under the shade of a gnarled ancient tree.

He only dared speak of it now, with camps miles and miles behind them, away from perking ears that might latch on to a comment, and even now he talked indirectly as if the trees were eagerly listening to gossip.

Jaina sighed, her shoulders slumping as she spoke a quick spell summoning two hefty cakes in her hands. "It's been the only thing on my mind since we left." She admitted freely. Coward that she was, she knew she would have never uttered a word had Thrall not.

Some way they both knew they needed to talk about what had happened, or they'd never concentrate on their tasks, their minds constantly wandering to that night, and what might the other person be thinking.

"We can't just pretend like it never happened." Thrall pointed out taking a huge bite out of the conjured mana cake Jaina tossed him. A part of him knew he didn't want to pretend that it never happened; he didn't want to lie and say it was only a dream.

Deep inside his spirit, he knew he had liked holding her in his grasp, feeling his soft lips on his own as his tusks smoothed across her cheek as she deepened the kiss.

"I'm sorry if you felt like I used you, to be rid of my grief." Jaina replied timidly, fiddling with her cloak hem. Anything but meeting Thrall's eyes was a welcome at that moment. She couldn't express how she felt about the encounter to him while she was still puzzled herself. Were these the feelings she should have about him; no regret, and perhaps even enjoyment at his touch that could spark a fire in her like she had never known?

Thrall grunted once, wiping the flecking crumbs of cake from his plate garb as he finished downing the conjured food. "Think nothing of it. We were both grieving. These things happen."

The phrase seemed soothing in its own callous way. It seemed to be a false concise point they agreed upon. These things happened. It was an excellent shield to hide behind to block against the truth of their feelings, and the awkwardness of that night that plagued them.

Jaina managed a thin smile and a nod as she rose, picking up her pack with the same motion. "Of course, sometimes these things happen." She shrugged pathetically.

In truth of course, they both knew it was a weak ruse against themselves, but for the moment it was embraced with everything they had.

Thrall bared his wide tusky grin then that seemed to lighten the mood around them. He stepped away from the tree they had rested under stretching his thick muscled limbs. "With that out of the way, Lady Proudmoore. Let us continue to seek the Night elves."

Jaina nodded again as they set off once more into the darkened wood at trifle more at ease than how they had been. Yes, it was out of the way…temporarily.

.


	11. Night Elves

_A/N: Wow, it's been forever since I updated. Thanks to Mist of Pandaria, I have been itching to write more for WoW, especially, my favorite couple that never was. Thrall's baby should be in Jaina not Aggra! /cry _

**~8~8~**

A demon howled out its ear piercing death cry as Jaina let forth a crackling fireball to the chest. Sparks of fire and bloody pieces of rough porous skin sizzled and burst into a fetid plume of burned and charred gray flesh erupting upward to the shaded heavens.

The air was thick with the stench of bubbling skin melting upon bones, boiled blood simmering in deeps puddles upon the verdant land and the banshee shrieks of demons befalling such terrible ends. Smoke, vile and acrid wafted about the coppices of trees wreathing their full branches in their odorous reek of deplorability.

The arch mage allowed a small upturn of her lips, only taking a moment to relish the satisfaction of the ugly creature squealing and slapping furiously at what was used to be its protruding chest now a melting hunk of flesh. His claws scraped at his own sable scorched and blistering skin to dampen the ravenous flames devouring his thick hide.

With a guttural, blood filled groan, it swayed unsteadily upon its clawed feet, digging into the lush earth, and then toppled.

Instantly, two more, larger, demons looking like they had just climbed their way out of the darkest pits of the nether took their fellows place. Their claws were shaper than newly forged daggers and slashed dangerously close; eager to rip the sorceress pale flesh to bloody ribbons.

With smooth, practiced skill Jaina called upon the powers of frost like a well versed bard relating a tale she knew by heart. A barrier of ice enshrouded her, temporarily delaying their attacks meant to dig into her porcelain skin and yank out her tiny heart.

Oh how the wretches howled in cheated rage! Their knife like talons swung viciously into the shield of ice, taking out massive chunks or scraping deep gashes in the hardened carapace engulfing the battle hardened sorceress.

Fronds of frost and small flakes of ice melted against their tarry, taut, hides as they burrowed into the coldness mindlessly attempting to reach their target with a rabid fervor.

Air heaved like forge bellows from her burning lungs as she stepped back to catch her breath from the savage assault being doled out upon the shield of ice. Her lips were cracked and mouth felt dry and parched in want of water. These demons were far more persistent than the other gang they had tussled with.

The sorceress couldn't help but jump as she accidentally backed up into Thrall. The barbaric attack had her nerves more tense than usual.

"Looks like we've really stepped into it this time, Jaina." Thrall said after taking a few deep, laboring breaths. A roar of blood and defiance against the howling demons sprang from his lips, making him appear all the more barbaric than what the legend spoke of the orcish kind.

Stretching forth his free hand another arch of lighting slammed into a frenzied demon turning him into a small mountain of ash upon the leaf strewn ground.

A blizzard of ice crashed down onto a small knot of charging demons changing the white ice into a black oily hue of foul blood of the minions of the nether. Blood splashed on Jaina, who spat in out of her mouth like bile.

The taste was bitter and horrendous nearly making her heave her last meal upon the verdant forest floor. "Uhg, and I thought the scourge were the worst it could get." She wiped her mouth with the edge of her blue cloak. "The oracle said elves would be in this forest, not these craven beasts at every turn!"

Another demon, running on all fours towards Thrall, leapt up its claws flexing in eagerness and slavering maw wide displaying rows of serrated teeth to slash him to bits and tear out his jugular.

"Your left!" Jaina warned. Speaking a freezing spell as quickly as the words of hazard wrenched from her lips, the racing demon slowed in mid air, transforming into a veritable ice cube.

The powerful, yet taxing spell left the demon frozen with its arms upraised to the leafy boughs up and claws ready to tear down and rip the Far Seer's face into a shredded crimson mess.

With a heavy grunt, Thrall swung his hammer with the strength only an orc such as he could possess, smashing the ice into a myriad of shimmering pieces. The deadly shards whirled in every direction like shrapnel projecting through the smoke filled air. One slashed along side Jaina's cheek, creating a thin oozing scar of ruby, but so caught up dealing with another sordid being pouncing upon her, she hardly noticed.

"Thanks." Thrall growled in appreciation.

Some days he wondered what he would do with out her. She had his back better than any one he had ever known, in any situation, orc or otherwise. A week and a half under the darkened glades of the strangely bleak forest, searching for the mysterious elves, had nurtured a trust and fondness for the human. The last human he had ever felt fondly of had been bright, kind Taretha, but he had grown comfortable with her as a friend, But Jaina…that was a different matter altogether.

Breaking through the dense undergrowth came another slew of feral demons, bigger and angrier than the ones Thrall and Jaina were currently battling. They were a menagerie of evil and decimation of all shapes and sizes, each more snarling and feral than its dying predecessor bereft of their vile blood.

The sorceress felt disparity grab at her resilience looking at the throngs breaking through the dark undergrowth. There appeared to be no end in sight charging through the ancient glades.

Thrall bit back a black curse as he swung his mighty hammer with numbed hands, slick with the blood and spittle and gore of his foes. How on Azeroth would they find the mysterious dark elves, the oracle had told them of if they were spending most of their days fighting demons and resting from their exhausted battles?

It was a vicious cycle with no end in sight unless they retreated back to their outposts, but then they would never be privy to locating the elves.

A sharp zipping sound rippled through the air taking down the demon that was almost upon Thrall. The blood spurted in his sweat stained face as the abberation let out a confused bloody growl at the pain that had struck unexpectedly in its back. Its dirty stained claws touched the arrows razor tip sticking out of his chest in dumb curiosity before crashing forward.

More of the same, Thrall recognized now as arrows, whizzed dangerously from the shades of the dark forest in a host of uncountable directions. Demons screeched in the stinging pain suddenly rained down upon them and began dropping like huge flies swatted from mid air.

He and Jaina would share a horrible, similar fate, Thrall realized if they didn't duck for cover soon. Already one arrow had skimmed across his upper arm while one had bounced harmlessly off his plate armor.

Grabbing the sorceress by the fur lined hood of her cloak he tossed her down covering themselves with a hulking Nazareth corpse to avoid the arrows searching bite.

By the time the arrows had stopped their deathly deluge nothing was heard save for a brief rustling of the leafy canopy above and the whispering wind gliding through the trees.

"Do you think it's over?" Jaina probed in a whisper.

It was not an inquiry of fear, Thrall noted. The Far Seer had never seen the arch mage fearful, but only in studious curiosity.

"Sounds like it." He replied grunting as he lifted the demon corpse from atop their respective forms.

The hulking demon creature torn from nightmare now looked more like a pincushion on the outside. Shafts quivered still on the bloating form of the stench ridden demon as Thrall heaved the huge body over and stood up to view the bloody carnage.

Instead, both stood stock still, looking around at the female elves that had irrepressibly surrounded them; all bows drawn and pointed for the kill.

Directly in front of them, two of the female muscle toned archers stepped to their respective sides letting a ferocious white tiger, easing smoothly through the monolithic forest and a furious looking rider, pass.

The beautiful but dark colored elf, was garbed efficiently in swirling armor that looked both like cloth and mail sewn together flawlessly. The impressive raiment glittered down the radiance of whatever light passed through the dense canopy overhead making it shimmer slightly like stars in the velvet night.

Her hair was the color of newly bloomed ivy that cascaded down her back and was pinned neatly behind her for combat purposes.

The being glowered at them with lilac colored eyes that sparkled with fury. Her tranquil, soft voice growled sharp and dangerous as her tiger padded forward alertly. "You do not look like, nor fight like demons. Who are you, and what are you, trespassers? Speak quickly if you desire to live."

The elf spoke common which surprised both Thrall and Jaina though it was probably due to some enchantment or perchance some ancient grasp of the simplistic language of the humans.

Jaina, the more diplomatic of the pair, stepped forward warily though exuding friendliness, only to have the tiger bare its ivory fangs and the rider draw her own bow with an expert ease. "No closer, creature. You smell of 'high elf' magic. Speak, now before I decide to do away with you!"

The sorceress to a tentative step back, her blood stained hands upraised to show she meant no harm. "My name is Jaina Proudmoore, a human from across the great sea. And he is Thrall, son of Durotan. An orc, also from across the sea." She added proffering back to the Warchief amiably. "Before we continue, may we know your name?"

The elf regarded her for a silent, tense moment, as if judging the request before nodding tersely. "Tyrande Whisperwind, high priestess of Elune, trespasser." In mere seconds the face of the elf took on a furious edge again her voice just as sharp as before. "We elves see all in our lands, don't think we don't know about both your camps in our forest. Your warrior in suits of metal with axes deforesting our home. If not for your superior ability to fight I would slay you were you stand but you both appear very efficient high ranking to your own people. You could come in handy as bargaining chips and information. Furion will help me decide." She stated venomously. "But we will not speak of these things in the open, vulnerable to attack. From demons or your folk."

In a swift intricate language that made, Thrall and Jaina's head spin the elves moved into action binding the pair. Their very walk was graceful as though they glided upon the leaf strewn ground.

Thrall was clasped in simple chains despite his ability for magic, but with Jaina, shackles that seemingly blocked her magic like the totems that surrounded her in the caverns were slapped upon her wrists.

A glint of assurance in Jaina's eyes told him that her chains had been designed for powerful mages but not as powerful as her, should the need arise; it would be a simple matter to escaped.

An un-mounted saber tooth was brought forward as the elves prodded the pair of prisoners forward with the ends of their bows.

"Wait." Tyrande called out making the fierce warrior women halt. "The human rides with me. I have handled her chaotic, dangerous, magic before. If she tries anything, I can control it better than you, my sisters."

Thrall very nearly laughed, as Jaina hid a smile behind a wall of neutral features. They knew not who they called captive.

Jaina needed no prodding as she was led to the high priestess; she was taller up close and had muscles to complement her graceful, sensuous form. The sorceress might have had magic to aid her but if the elf wished to hurt her with fist and brawn, it was no contest. With little effort she was on the sabers back. She could feel the muscles of the beast under, testifying to its ferocity and sending an icy shiver down her spine.

Tyrande shackled the woman's hands around her waist then suddenly jerked the girl close enough to hear her whisper in a deadly promise. "If you try anything. By Elune I swear I'll rip you limb from limb, human."

"Jaina. You may call me Jaina." The arch mage replied amicably not daring to take personal offence over her captor's violence when they needed them so.

From the corner of her eye, however, she could see Thrall bristling at the rough treatment Jaina was receiving. Why were they treating her like a dangerous criminal?

A better question of course was why he cared, she wondered to herself as the beast sprang off into the forest with its burden of priestess and sorceress.

After what Jaina could only assume as an hour or a bit more they arrived to a shaded grove of moving trees. The sight gave both prisoners pause at the sight of monolithic trees lumbered along and moved as though they were merely bark skinned people.

The grove itself looked half like a war camp and half like a refuge camp. Almost all the elves sported some sort of injury, and all looked worse for wear.

A horn heralding their arrival had many racing to greet Tyrande back with shouts of joy at her safe return and words in their flowing complicated tongue. When they saw the two prisoners many cried out in their language angrily more than likely recognizing the odd creatures invading in their sacred lands.

With a quick, nearly scolding word, the high priestess ordered the angered, plum skinned elves away allowing their trek further into the encampment with their prisoners.

From a thankfully solid tree in the middle of the grove came a towering male elf that gazed at them both when unveiled suspicion and anger. He was bedecked in teal and cobalt feathers about his muscled arms and horns atop his head that flowed through the marsh green tresses of his long hair.

Thrall didn't know weather the animal like parts were real or simply ornament, but guessed the latter.

As the tigers eased to a uniformed halt, Thrall was allowed to dismount, while Jaina was dragged from back of the leader woman's tiger with more chains attached to her shackles.

"You alright, Jaina?" Thrall asked in orcish. Struggling minutely against his bonds he hoped it was one language the dark elves didn't understand.

"Yes." Jaina replied grimly, the weight of the chains on her wrist, waist, neck, and ankles feeling very stifling. If she didn't know better she would say they were afraid of her.

"You will only speak in one language, human!" Tyrande snapped tightening her grip on the sorceress' arm to a vice.

The arch mage winced. "Of course, High Priestess," Jaina spoke in common, fighting the urge to freeze the elf were she stood to teach her a lesson.

The large male elf, stood silently like the trees enshrouding them. His complete lavender eyes critically searching the prisoners, before he spoke to the high priestess; his voice trembling in rage. "I commend your wisdom, beloved. If I had been there these two would be dead." Turning to Thrall there was a fury there that would have made a lesser orc shrink in fear. "Your kind killed the good hearted Cenarius. Demons blood ran through the veins of your kin." He paused for a moment his voice softening. "Though I do not sense it tainting your kind now. The spirits of beast tell me the elements speak highly of you."

His attention turned to Jaina though there was regret and anger dancing in his eyes instead of clemency. "You stink of chaotic magic of the forbidden arts, pale creature. If you so much as find a way to cast one spell, I will personally see you never leave this forest alive. Are we understood?"

Jaina's eyes flashed angrily her jaw clenching. There was only so much one person, no matter how patient could take.

Thrall saw the look and her mouth open to spit a stinging retort. Taking a step closer to her he whispered almost pleadingly. "Jaina, don't…"

There was a tense moment both elven leaders slightly confused or game for trouble. Jaina took a deep breath nodding. "I understand, sir…"

"Arch druid Malfurion Stormrage."

"My mate." Tyrande tacked on proudly confirming Thrall and Jaina's hunch.

"Now tell us what are you doing here?" Furion asked firmly.

It was obvious he was talking to Thrall, much to Jaina's ire, but she let it slide taking in her surroundings.

"Oddly enough," Thrall chuckled humorlessly. "We were seeking you."

"For what purpose?"

"The legion." Thrall replied, then silenced by the loud murmurs heard around. "We bring news of its coming."

Tyrande looked to Furion who was glaring at Jaina suspiciously as though she were the loadstone that had guided the horrible nether army towards Azeroth.

"Lets speak inside." Tyrande suggested soothingly to her mate and placed a gentle hand on his tattooed shoulder, leading him in the command center with Thrall and Jaina being goaded to march from behind.

Inside the large tree looked much bigger than outwards. Wooden tables and benches, seemingly still bound to the tree but reshaped, were set in rows in a wide circular room that seemed to be the base of the tree. Once inside, Tyrande closed the huge double doors door gently, leaving only a few guards and the four leaders alone.

"What about the legion," Furion dove in instantly; not bothers to take a seat.

"We were told by an oracle that the legion was coming back and that if we don't all work together our world as we know it will be destroyed. He told us we needed to find the dark elves." Thrall responded evenly.

"We…" Furion mumbled, caught up on the one word. "Surely you cannot mean you and that…chaotic, power hungry, monster that caused this in the first place."

"Enough!" Jaina growled, pounding a fist onto the table. The guards around her leapt back, telling Jaina her first assumption had been correct, they were afraid of her. "I don't know what makes you look at me and determine I'm some sort of monster simply because I am a mage."

"We know what your magic is capable of!" Furion roared back. "It tore our world asunder ages ago!"

The confusion on Thrall's and Jaina's faces told Tyrande instantly what the matter they were both plagued with was, and the reason the woman of the pair had no idea why such precaution was being taken with her. Still, it did nothing to stop her from being astounded that they didn't know the core history that shaped their world.

"Furion." Tyrande chided quietly, drawing her husband to silence. "They might not know."

"Know what." Thrall growled his eyes narrowing dangerously at Furion for treating Jaina in such a manner. Had he not had to endure the chains, he would have given the odd elf a solid punch to the jaw for speaking to Jaina in such a manner.

The candles had melted down to nubs before the entire tale of the legion had been told, leaving the two prisoners astounded. Hours had passed with the telling of the history of the known world as had been resided in for centuries in their separate parts.

"And so became Kalimdor, Northrend, and what you call the eastern kingdom." Tyrande finished stifling a yawn.

"I can see why you don't trust mages but…" Jaina began before realizing it was to late for another story. They were not all like the queen Ashazara of old that Tyrande spoke of, or the traitorous brother Illidan Malfurion had related.

Tyrande appeared to understand Jaina's halting, smiling slightly she nodded to the arch mage. "It is late we will continue on the morrow."

Guards that had been interchanged thrice walked the prisoners to a place that, Jaina was absolutely certain, had not been there when they arrived. It was as if it had been molded from the grove or grown from the bare ground in a matter of minuets; a prison cell in the middle of nowhere.

The two were pushed roughly into the tiny quarters with several units of guards encircling the premises so secure their imprisonment all and entirely.

"Well that could have gone better." Thrall whispered in orcish; settling down on the leaf strewn floor he rubbed his neck to relieve a kink.

A breeze winded through the tiny crevices springing a chill into the cramped room. Jaina wrapped her arms around her body, since her cloak had been taken away. It was only then they realized how small the prison actually was.

The wooden structure was a hairsbreadth taller than Thrall and approximately just as long. The wood and vines made it so slender, that the pair was hard pressed for any room at all.

Thrall politely faced away from the sorceress, enduring the chill stalwartly as the wind buffeted his thick green hide. The intricate vines that made up the prison gave him a headache as he lay down stiffly.

He could feel Jaina settling down to rest, her back brushing up against Thralls own in a testament to just how tiny the prison was. The awkwardness in the small room was nearly palpable with them so close after what had happened those nights before.

Jaina couldn't help but laugh. "We must look pretty stupid."

A smile crept to his lips. "Indeed." He agreed.

It was stupid they would be cold because they didn't want to turn around and share body heat.

"Maybe we could…" Jaina began.

"It's only sensible…" Thrall added.

Slowly both turned to face each other. The moon light shimmering through the trees dappled Jaina's face in odd yet beautiful patterns.

Thrall had never truly noticed how blue her eyes were or how soft her features until the moon beams played upon her soft flesh and danced with the winding shadows.

Jaina admired Thrall's tusked lopsided grin, that he appeared to be unaware of plastered across his rough face was strangely endearing. His jet black hair looked so silky and soft, the arch mage had to fight the urge to card her fingers through the onyx tresses.

Thrall stretched his arms out as Jaina shifted closer to him laying her head on his bulging forearm.

Perhaps it was embarrassment or the rapid beating out the heart, but both suddenly felt much warmer. It was a different warmth than that of the heat they shared to combat the chill, but warmth that sparked in the heart.

"Good night, Jaina." Thrall said softly. His calloused thumb traced gently over the place where the shard of ice had cut a thin slash.

She smiled sleepily, hoping the pale luminous disks in the satin firmament hide the rise of heat mounting in her cheek. "Good night, Thrall."

Strangely enough, both slept well despite being in one another's arms.

Creaking wood giving way heralded the arrival of guards who led them back into the main command quarters in the still dark morning in the shaded glades. There was breakfast for four waiting on one of the tables, still piping hot with a kettle of tea steaming in the center.

"Please, sit." Tyrande bade the pair to two seats opposite of her and her husbands.

She didn't appear as hostile as yesterday but there still was an air of suspicion lingering around her like the dawn mist lingered upon the upper boughs of the monolithic trees.

As soon as they sat diving into their meals, Furion was on them again questioning ruthlessly for information.

"Who are your leaders, so we may know who to address for talks for freedom?" He poured himself a clay beaker of tea.

"That would be Thrall, lord of the clans and Jaina arch mage of the Kirin Tor." Thrall answered tactfully hiding a smile.

The two elves shot their heads up; long green eyebrows arched wildly in surprise.

"You mean…" Tyrande trailed off in shock looking at one to the other.

"As you said, because of our battle prowess was the only reason you let us live." Jaina chimed in slyly.

"Prove it." Furion growled; breakfast forgotten. "I won't believe we captured the two leaders of such vast forces until you do."

"If you insist." Jaina nodded unable to keep the mischief out of her voice.

A quickly spoken spell rendered one of the guards, who were quickly becoming uneasy and casting glances to one another into a bleating sheep.

The poor elf belated belatedly in panic as it milled about in a frenzy. Another spell brought forth a bubbling water elemental from nothing but a bit of water from the floor. The gurgling elemental froze Thralls chains with one word from its mistress. With a grunt he broke through the now fragile iron links, showing testament to his strength.

"The magic dampening shackles!" Tyrande cried leaping up.

"Are not sufficient." Jaina finished with a smile.

The high priestess blinked owlishly. "You could have killed me at any moment." Tyrande concluded shocked. A lance of ice could have broken through her skull and speared her brain if the human had wished it so! "Why didn't you?"

"Because we come in peace." Jaina replied gently. In some way it had been worth holding back her powers for so long to see the expression on the elf's face and the sudden realization that they had never truly held the two outsiders captive at all.

"Such power. It's unnatural and dangerous beyond reason…" Furion mumbled outraged.

"It is dangerous for those who do not know how to control it." Jaina countered simply. "I don't bargain with demons, like your kind did, I kill them."

Furion searched her critically, before giving a disgruntled snort. "I don't trust you, but my beloved was correct, you could have slain us at anytime."

The guard returned to its night elven form; quivering in fear. It screamed hysterically, running out of the room in abject terror and into the safety of the towering forest away from powerful mages.

The four leaders took a moment to stifle small smiles of amusement. There was not much to be amused at in the times they fought in with the legion a looming threat to darken the world.

Tyrande hoisted up her spoon again, blowing on the piping hot meal. "Since we seem to know one another better at present, then let us speak of the oracles words."

It was very late before Tyrande and Malfurion retired for the night, their minds whirling over the news of the legions return along with the sinister being Mannoroth, the orcs had slain to be free of their blood taint.

After a few moments, lost in deep consideration, Tyrande wrapped her arms around Malfurion, just focusing on how good it felt to have him near her once more. 2000 years away from their heart and love made a person grateful about the simple thing in life like sharing a bed.

The thoughts soothed her enough so that she put the worry of the legion off for a little while.

"Tell me truly, Beloved, what do you think about the human and her mate?" Tyrande whispered to Malfurion.

She could hear him grumble slightly bringing a smile to her lips. "I don't trust that human, but if what they say is true we really don't have another choice but to ally with them."

Her finger traced the outlining of his swirling tattoos. "I don't know, I think she's sincere about defeating the legion and I haven't had an inkling of foul magic's at play." Tyrande replied.

There was a long silence as both elves thought to themselves. Malfurion broke the silence by tilting his head down to look at Tyrande's who head lay on his chest. "What makes you think they're mated?"

Tyrande chuckled quietly, "Have you not seen the look they give each other."

"What look?" Malfurion asked. It was not often the arch druid was confused, making the situation even funnier. For all his sagely knowledge and several human lifetimes' worth of wisdom, such things concerning the heart of love and emotion had often eluded him.

Tyrande shook her head pityingly, mumbling something about all males before sighing and drifting off into slumber.

"Rise and shine, you two," Tyrande said opening the door to the cell.

Thrall and Jaina squinted in the sunlight that filtered through the open door. Sometime in the night, although he didn't know it, Thrall had put a protective arm around the sorceress gently curving her small body to his so that fit like a perfect piece to a puzzle Her golden tresses and mingled with his coarse beard in strand of honey and onyx.

Like two teenagers caught by disapproving parents, the pair awkwardly parted ways not noticing the peculiar look Tyrande gave them.

"So have you decided on a course of action, High priestess?" Jaina asked wiping dirt and leaves from her skirt.

Tyrande nodded smoothly. "I and Malfurion believe you're telling the truth about the legion invasion, we will give our aid. Now come, we must leave to you and your mates encampments will due haste."

"No need to rush I can conjure a porta-**WHAT**!" Jaina asked far louder than she'd intended just registering the last statement from Tyrande. The aghast word rang about the thriving, festering forest like some death shriek.

"To your encampments." Tyrande said again a hint of suspicion weaving its way into her voice.

"No, no, not that," Thrall piped up, with Jaina still to stunned to speak. "We aren't…um…mated. In fact our peoples, more often than not hate one another…"

Tyrande looked almost as surprised as Thrall and Jaina, she coughed awkwardly. "Forgive me for jumping to conclusions. You two just look so…never mind. On our way then, Lady Proudmoore, you said something about a portal."

"Yes." Jaina shook her head slightly as if to shake off the last few minuets. "I can conjure one right now if you'd like me to; directly outside my encampment."

The high priestess managed somewhat of a graceful nod, even though her inexcusable blunder still resonated in their minds akin to the peals of a battle. "I see, Lady Proudmoore. While I gather a few of my choice forces I would appreciate if this portal was up and running."

"Of course, Lady Whisperwind." Jaina managed to finally speak normally and even add an insincere smile of cooperation.

As the lithe, sensuous, night elf sauntered courteously back to the towering tree barracks housing her female sentential, Jaina spared a small glance Thrall's way hoping to judge his reaction at her observation.

He too, turned to her at the exact moment, causing the pair to look into one another's cobalt depths both housing the same inquiry. Did they truly radiate the impression of husband and wife? The high priestess did not seem like one to cast her judgment on rumored trifles, especially not something so ludicrous as an orc and a human being wed.

Thrall inclined his head, hoping to break her gaze, while she as well swiveled away going to prepare the portal and hope to banish such thoughts back to whence they came.


	12. Self Control

Footsteps pounded rhythmically upon the verdant earth inside the orcish commanded tent as Dan'ruk paced nervously from one corner of the rounded, many hided make shift dwelling to the other.

Pale, yellow tallow candles dripped from their perches upon the wide table in the epicenter of the wide tent. The large oaken table was spread out with tattered papers, scrolls, crude maps of the darkened realm they made camp, and a slew of scout reports that littered the only piece of furniture besides the two old barrels serving as seats.

The pungent smoke swirling up into the air from the foul candles and the stench of sweat dripping off the worried orc wafted about the tent acridly. Its stench mirrored what Dan'ruk felt bubbling inside his gut that all was not right.

"Where are you, Warchief?" The shaman in training mumbled worriedly under his breath.

Two weeks had passed since they had ventured out into the shaded woodlands to search for the supposed elves dwelling under the shaded canopy. Their most expert of scouts, from both forces, had been sent out to no avail in tracking down the mysterious elves. After such attemps had all fallen short, that had left the only recourse for the two leaders to attempt to locate the supposed beings said to reside in the shaded glades that gave the land an almost purple tint to the flora and abundant fauna.

While both had checked in regularly with the runes they had bestowed upon himself and Darren to assure contact and safty, as of two days ago his rune had ceased its warm bluish glow of the human, Proudmoore's, power and now rested as nothing but a cold stone in his sweaty, work hardened palm.

Cold terror broke over him the day he had discovered the rune a useless lump of rock and no traces of magic, without word from his Warchief.

That day he had said nothing to the human Darren who gave not a hint that his magical stone was barren and lifeless in any way. Not even a hint of worry furrowed over his ugly pink face telling tale if anything was amiss. On the contrary he was often seen by his shadowed silhouette in the Lady Proudmoore's tenement chatting back to the stone as he had been doing for Thrall.

Dan'ruk stroked his beardless chin in sagely contemplation at the thought. His dark, piggish eyes stared intently at the guttering candles flames flickering wildly before his vision. Slowly foul candle wax oozed down its sides as if crying in mourning for the lost Warchief.

It was as though the elements of flames, known for the rash and impetuousness were speaking to him with every dip and sway of the errant fire; entrancing him with it coaxing jig.

What if the Lady Proudmoore, some how managed to ambush Thrall before she could do anything to his rune stone? Of course the frail looking, if not cunning human only recourse would be to ambush the far seer whilst he slept of performed a ritual to consult the spirits. She would have used her treacherous, cold magic's to stop his heart from its brave pounding and shattered it in ice, or perhaps use the hungry flame to devour his flesh and leave him a smoldering mass upon the accursed lands carpet of lush greenery.

Even seeing her might and what powers she could wield from her hands, Dan'ruk was too proud to remotely consider a human, especially a female, stronger than the wise, savage Warchief. He allowed the elements to flow through him, raw, primal power from Azeroth's core itself. Only treachery itself would be used to be take down the mighty Thrall, son of Durotan.

So what could she have done to make his rune grow cold?

"Filthy, heathen, orc dogs!" The well known voice of Darren abruptly roared furiously; his snarling voice piercing the air like the first fire arrow of a battle sailing through the air.

Dan'ruk's bald head shot up at the insulting proclamation echoing about the towering trees surrounding them. Breaking off his concentration upon the mesmerizing cavorting plunges and bickering of the flame, a feral growl rumbled from his thick lips.

Beckoning the spirits to his aid, the way Thrall had taught is apprentice; the proud orc puffed his chest out angrily as he flung open the tent flaps to address the pink skin issue no doubt nearing the encampment of the orcs.

What little light broke through the dense foliage of the forest shown down upon the expertly polished and prepared armor of a host of human narrowing in their direction. The clank of plate boots marching in strict military precision clanked murderously towards the equally as riled orcs who pawed at their dutifully cared for weaponry of axes and spears.

Darren was in the lead of the angered pack. His dark brown eyes blazed like the heat of the little candle aimed towards the burly orc. His hands curled over the hilts of his twin blades, that hadn't been drawn yet, but the sinewy muscles tensing under the dark leather of his uniform suggested that they could be whipped out before a heart could finish a single beat.

A snarl wrenched past the human's twisted bearded lips as he stopped mere inches away from Dan'ruk. Spittle flecked the fringes of his mouth, like a rabid animal, and the very air about him emanated threat and the precursor of bloodshed heralded with the fire in his orbs.

"What has your foul brute of a leader done with the Lady Proudmoore?" He screamed in outrage. Before Dan'ruk could offer a sneering, reply the human unlaced the ties to an old, blue leather coin purse about his hip. The novice second in command waved the cold bit of stone with the rune engraved upon it like some declaration of guilt. "For two days this blasted hunk of rock has been cold and silent! Why is she not communicating; where is Jaina!"

Dan'ruk roared back as fiercely as the human, prodded to the heights of his races ancient rage by the accusation and infantile assumption that Thrall had done something unworthy of a great war lord. How dare he allude to Thrall doing something underhanded and dastardly! Humans were much more suited to those traits, than a noble orc!

Murder flashed in his dark eyes as he seemed to tower over the just as enraged human. "What has he done? What has your underhanded, trickster of a Warchief done pink skin? Thrall would never stoop to dishonor to be rid of your weak human chief! But I am not so certain that your human would do the same." He seethed. Tearing his own rune from the folds of his wolf pelt robe, he brought it inches from Darren's face. "Tell me why my rune has been depleted of your human's magic!"

"Ha, trying to make us think you're the victims, as always. You think I will believe such treacherous words? A stupid ruse, from blood thirsty, stupid orcs!" The wiry human spat causing flecks of warm saliva to spatter on Dan'ruk's face.

At that, pushed far over the precipice of self control, and what paltry scrap of peace he had somehow managed to contain, from the human's blatant words, the apprentice shaman's fist, still curled about the rune, collided like a hammer upon rock with Darren's face. Bone crunched beneath his fist like the sweetest of music to the enraged orcs ears. To hear the sound of human crying in agony as their bones cracked to splinters was the grandest of symphonies to any true blooded orc.

The human went flying back into the plated bodies of his fellow soldiers and spattering of dwarves who had come armed to the teeth and ready for answers sullied in blood. Darren clenched his teeth at the pain sonorously resounding through his skull akin to the bells of Lorderans kingdom on a feast day. Blood gushed from his twisted, broken nose, and a scar from an edge of the rough stone gashed over his right eye, just missing the orb entirely. Inches away and it would have assuredly caused him to go blind.

Rising unsteadily to his feet, the sinewy human spat out a wad of black blood, spit, and probably particles of broken teeth. Drawing out his blades, he brandished them skillfully; every swing singing the tune of battle. "We will search for our Lady Proudmoore after we gut you barbarians and burn your wretched carcasses!"

"Funny." Dan'ruk huffed a mirthless chuckle. Lightening crackled in his balled fist ominously with streams of shamanistic power jumping about his calloused grip. "I was about to say the same."

Coalescing the energy of the blast to his palm, the orc let out a savage roar as he sent the bolt flying aimed at Darren's bloodied and bruised face. A smirk of bloody satisfaction carved upon the orcs features, only to be dashed a second later.

Bringing both his blades, points forward, the human caught the bolt by the steel tips of his blades. Amazingly, the lightening did nothing to the blades, but merely stayed there as one orb of crackling power as though it was still under the orcs command.

It was Darren's turn to smirk at the blank, unexpected amazement upon Dan'ruk's grizzled, ugly face. "An enchantment to harness and reflect such primal, lowly magic's. Courtesy of Lady Proudmoore before she departed." He revealed with a harsh lurid laugh before raising the two blades high above his head.

The lightening crackled of the very tips of the twin weapons like an orb on some strange pinnacle. "Now I believe, this is yours."

Roaring in exertion, the wiry human flung the lightening bolt back with all the rage his sinewy form could possess. A large grin plastered upon his scruffy face, confident the orc had not been expecting such a maneuver.

And he was not, Dan'ruk knew imperatively as he numbly watched the cracking fiercely hissing ball of power soaring back to him. His mind became a blank sheet. Spells to beseech the elements fell from his mind and crowded his tongue so that nothing came out. This was going to hurt.

The streak of lightening barreled straight for his chest. For all his pride and courage, the shaman clenched his eyes shut and prepared to meet his ancestors in the great halls of war and feasting.

Heat brushed violently against his face, eager to bite and singe his marsh green skin. Abruptly, the magic sizzled and died only a hairsbreadth away.

Relief shuddered through the orc who blinked now in as much surprise at the confused Darren.

"There will be no bloodshed this day warriors of the Horde." Thrall's rumbling, commanding voice stated with all the weight of a Warchief could dictate.

Beside him, the arch mage's outstretched hand glowed a pale blue that banished the lightening bolt that had been about to break upon the astounded orc. "Neither will the soldiers of Lorderan raise up their blades."

"No blood shall be spilt upon our sacred lands, least Elune should turn her pale light away and cast you all into darkness." Another female, one strange with taut, lilac hued skin and dark green hair prophesied direly.

A tenuous peace rankled through the ranks of orcs and humans relieved and pleased to see their leaders, and the tall, lithe female who no doubt had to be one of the elves it was rumored the oracle had spoken thus.

"Lady Proudmoore!"

"Warchief!"

Dan'ruk and Darren roared simultaneously at their sudden appearance. Flashing quick respectful salutes, the two substitute generals strode towards their respective leaders hurriedly.

Both leaders cast their second in commands look of anger and disappointment that foretold a long talk after introductions and explanations were made. By the nether, they had nearly walked into a bloody massacre of humans and orcs, not the true threat of the Legion.

"Our runes were not on our persons when he discovered the elves." Thrall explained disapprovingly to the pair. He tactfully deigned not to mention the part that the runes had actually been confiscated when they were prisoners; thinking a wedge could be caused between the orcs and the elves in another grudge that was not needed. His eyes bored in raging fury to Dan'ruk. "I had hope this is a sufficient _intelligent _explanation?"

Unable to meet the Warchief's gaze, Dan'ruk tilted his head down and scuffed the verdant earth with his leather boot. "Of course, Warchief, Thrall."

Jaina merely shook her head at Darren who had adverted his eyes, and rubbed the back of his sweaty neck, before she pushed his ineptitude away for later. "But, as you can see, our mission was a success." She proffered a hand, to the elegant and stately night elf who gazed upon the warriors of the Horde and the Alliance with due incredulity.

Who knew what thoughts could be roving the ancient crevices of her mind?

"The high priestess and her mate have agreed to aid us in our fight against the Legion." Thrall spoke to the gathering in slow common so that a few well versed grunts could translate for their fellows. "In the coming days we shall hold talks and meeting of war on how best to halt the shadow encroaching upon Azeroth."

At that, a few cheers and claps where heard from the forest, but felt half hearted and demoralized. The men were tired and hurt and weary of the shaded groves and coppices of towering oaks that shielded the sky and kept the sun at bay. Their hearts were leaden and heavy with all that they had endured. Having located and befriended the elves did not seem like much of a victory or progress to any one.

"If you are through, Warchief Thrall I would like to depart back to my husband and report all that I have seen and witnessed." Tyrande stated serenely with cool demeanor that betrayed nothing working in her mind. There was no hiding the fact she and her people who judged and brooded upon all she would relate would know all she had seen; that was inevitable which was partially the reason for fury against the generals.

The first thing she would relate to her husband and generals was how she had seen a near massive slaughter by those who were supposed to be working together! What sort of force where these strange humans and orcs, who shed blood against their own allies?

The Far Seer and arch mage made curt bows to the priestess. "As you wish, Lady Whisperwind. We look forward to talks soon." Jaina replied as some form of good bye.

With that, the priestess and her escort of lithe and dangerous warrior women slipped back into the dark denseness of the woods. They seemed to fade and then be gone like smoke taken by the wind, only at least with smoke there was a faint trace. For the elves nothing was left, but the whispers of the wind.

~8~8~

It was late in the night before Jaina got a clear opportunity to slip out of her command quarters and teleport herself into the orcish war tent. The entire room was dim and smelled with the heady scent of weapon oil and tallow as her eyes adjusted to the blackness.

"I'm glad Sarrah sent you the alls clear to come." Thrall's deep voice admitted as he summoned flames to a few dead candles about the war room.

Light flared to life letting the sparse things in the room be partially adumbrate against the illumination of the candles soft glows playing about the tent hides enchanted sides.

Jaina's loyal servant had come in handy as a liaison on more than one occasion when their meeting demanded utter secrecy to talk about the issues that plagued their camps away from the eager ears of foot men and grunts, starving for news to gossip around the bonfires.

Flinging a sheaf of reports two weeks old upon the battle map stuck to the table with four daggers upon the frayed edges, the Warchief sighed tiredly. Rubbing the small space between his squinted sky blue eyes with his thick fingers, he slipped down upon one of the make-do barrel seats. "After sorting the mess that fool Dan'ruk has made with running the encampment for two weeks, and yelling at him for nearly causing a massacre, I find myself rather fatigued of the day's drudgeries."

Jaina snorted a mirthless reply as she took the other barrel turned chair. "My voice is nearly hoarse for screaming at Darren. His obtuse passions nearly got our men in a brutal battle. I'm having him clean the latrines for a week. If he can't act like a general, I'll put him back down to a recruit status."

A smile briefly crept to Thrall's grizzled face. "Dan'ruk will be doing all the things a novice shaman will have to complete for a very long time for his actions." Suddenly his smile faded as though recalling something vastly unpleasant. "However, he did mention one thing I thought rather disturbing."

The arch mage leaned forward slightly, her face crinkled with intrigue. "Another Legion attack?"

"No." Thrall assured her solemnly. "But something just as dangerous." What little amusement that had etched upon his face died away as suspicion and untrustworthiness clouded his furrowed brow. "Just before he arrived, that lightening bolt we saw, contrary to my belief, was not being hurled by Dan'ruk, but reflected back to him."

Jaina tensed at the accusation, but did nothing to deny it. Holding her head high she nodded tersely as her fingers curled over the wood of the table. "After a bit of study of the primal magic's of shaman's I forged enchantments for Darren's blade to deflect minor spells."

Thrall laced his thick green fingers together thoughtfully as he leaned back. "How do you think I would look at this? You crafted a defense to deflect spells from my people. Sabotage if you will. Need I remind you that just because we are not under the mountains, does not make you free. You are still a captive of the Horde, and I do believe I reminded you of what the cost of treachery would bring you. Furthermore." At this Thrall looked a trifle hurt. "I thought we had grown a trust. We have fought and shed blood side by side. To my people that is a signal for friendship and even to human that usually forges a camaraderie of sorts."

"I did not give him the enchantments because I am untrustworthy of you, Thrall." The powerful arch mage replied serenely. A sardonic frown edged upon her lips. "It's for him and the men's assurance. You know and I know the enchantment will not hinder your power in the slightest, nor do nothing but modest damage back to Dan'ruk, the most senior of the shaman. If they think they have some sort of upper hand it makes them more pliable."

Thrall stared at the sorceress with eyes of the coldest blue intently for a moment. Even silent, Jaina could tell he was taking every word, every inflection of her even voice and judging it for truth.

Breath halted in her lungs under the hard stare aimed to her, but she stoically held her composure like any Proudmoore would. She would remain strong in his line of fire.

Slowly, when the arch-mage thought she would wither at the tension, Thrall allowed a tight thin smile to cross his lips. "Exceptionally clever, Jaina."

"Don't try to deny you haven't done the same with your men." Jaina returned his grin fondly.

He chuckled. "You noticed those talismans popping up all over the place did you?"

"What did you tell them it did? Made the pink skin pigs run in terror?" The arch-mage stifled a laugh, at remembering the grunts clutching the clay amulets that had arisen, seemingly overnight in the Horde encampment when she walked by.

It was no secret, for all the orcs loathing of a human that gave her begrudging respect for her power.

"It's a modest healing spell. Quite paltry for little more than scratches and the occasional welt. I told them it would help bolster their ferocity when fighting humans." Thrall explained.

Both shared a hearty long laugh at the cunning that had to be used. While it was a tad underhanded, neither leader was too fresh or inexperienced to know a few tricks to keep their men confident and therefore more manageable.

A human would work beside an orc with far less grumbling if it thought he had something ton surpass the skill of his hated foe beside him. A little piece of mind never hurt.

"You know this gives me an idea." Jaina remarked after their mirth pattered off.

Thrall wiped the corner of his eyes from tears of merriment. It was now his turn to look intrigued by her sly statement. "You have something that might help break a bit of the hatred and despising our people feel?"

"Something like that." She replied, though it sounded as though she were talking to herself. She absently twirled a tendril of her honey gold hair that Thrall knew as a sure sign of her lost in deep contemplation. He now always recognized what state she could fall into with ease. "Perhaps we could have a competition of sorts. To take their minds off the war for a day with a little friendly game or two."

"We could send your riflemen and our head hunters to hunt down a few of those enormous stags parading about the forest, for some tasty meat; a feast to fill their bellies as well as rejuvenate their hearts." Thrall added, warming immediately to the idea of a day of relaxing and fun for the troops in the sea of disparity.

"Then it's settled. We shall give our forces a day of relaxation to bolster them." The arch mage rose from her seat gracefully, like a diplomat in the old court of Kul'tiras having solved a perilous situation.

Always the perfect gentlemen, Thrall did likewise, causing a grin to press upon her face once more. "Your manners are impeccable as always, Warchief." She commented good naturedly as he meandered easily to her side of the table.

"Perhaps I shall reveal to you where I learned them one day, Lady Proudmoore. A day when we are not upon a foreign shore trying to deny the end of the words from crashing over us and obliterating all we hold dear." He offered a deep bow, jestingly.

The arch-mage could not suppress another laugh, at his all to truthful words.

It was only then they noticed, and not for the first time, how comfortable they were about one another and how…natural it felt to bandy words and share a soft grin and a laugh.

He had made a jest of the end of the world, and she had laughed at such, Thrall thought oddly. What other female, human or orc, would have chuckled at such a morbid sense of humor? What other woman, human or orc, was like Jaina?

Quite unexpectedly, as though the hand of fate pulled at the muscles of his being, the Warchief inclined his head slightly to lay a small, gentle kiss upon her lush lips. Her lips were softer than supple leather and sweet as moon juice and honey.

Alarm bells clanged sonorously through his mind as he receded away from the anathema he had just invoked. Why in the ancestors name had he done that! And why did he want to do it again!

Was it relief they had narrowly escaped disaster so many times in the past two weeks; trying to deny what they had shared before they had departed to seek the elves, or something far, far more? Was is that his mind totally never left that night they had passionately attacked one another's mouths to banish thoughts of pain concerning those they had once called friends and loves who where dead or sunken into depravity?

He stammered breathlessly towards the rigid sorceress as though he couldn't force his tongue to iterate words of its own accord. Her sapphire eyes were hooded by the veil of her lashes; concealing any emotion upon her face. "Jaina….forgive me… I don't know what came over me doing that….I just."

His words were swallowed up and forced roughly back his throat as she kissed him back with a fiery exuberance that rocked his entire sensibilities. The press of her lips, greedily devouring his kiss, flowed through his body like the power of the elements beckoning to his call.

For two weeks she had been craving to kiss him again, like tasting some forbidden wine, which intoxicated her senses. Days she had imagined what it would feel to have his lips upon her own again, and truly it was a wonderful as the first.

As their lips met in hungry, desperate passion, now alone and without the urgency of finding the elves or worrying over if their encampments were ablaze, Jaina gratefully thanked the light he had lost his self control only a few brief seconds before her perseverance crumbled into nothingness.


	13. Combat

_A/N: Thanks for reading and reviewing guys! A quick note, maybe I sort of gave the wrong impression that Thrall and Jaina were being intimate. I'd just like to clarify they have not reached that level of feelings for one another. Sorry for the confusion!_

**~8~8~**

"A tourney sounds wonderful, missus." Sarrah commented off handedly in her ever chipper demeanor.

The loyal servants head tilted up to look over the regents stored for their priests and mages in the battle to come against the dark magic of the Legion and to heal their wounded warriors struck in the inevitable bloody frays approaching with each passing day they denied the Legion to lay claim to their world. Every so often she would point her finger to the wooden crates and mouth silent words before dipping back down to primly dictate a few numbers upon the leather backed ledger in her grip.

All around them the sounds of hammers banging upon wooden stakes, rang sonorously through the air. Voices of deep human timbres and rough orc tongues yelled out orders in a cheery rough housing manner to have the rings set up for the games. A festive nature ruled the air and wreathed the very atmosphere with a jovial gaiety for both orcs and humans alike.

Sharpening stones scraped upon blades in their teeth grating tones, and the hammer of the blacksmiths clanged out upon the anvils as solider repaired weapons and dented pieces of armor to participate in the games of strength.

The hearty scent of cooking bear and stag meat drifted in a tantalizing aroma through the air that tempted the soldiers of both camps who'd lived on mostly tough dried rations of rock hard tack bread, water, and dried venison that had broken more than one tooth and tusk alike.

Grease that dripped into the gluttonous flames below the huge slabs of cooking meat sizzled and hissed sonorously like a pit full of angry vipers while fire erratically whooshed upon from huge globs of fat dropping into its eager grip.

The noise and activity of the encampment seemed to all meld together in one great orchestrated cacophony of excitement for the upcoming games and sub sequential feast to follow. Such work, as predicted, took their minds off the encroaching invasion of the Legion.

Drowning happily in their merry work, no longer did they shrink in the every approaching shadow that sought to crush their world to rubble and ruin. By their audacity of having games they practically spat into the eye of the foe creeping ever closer to subdue their world in nothingness and sorrow.

Scribbling a few last numbers in a thick faded blue ledger, the loyal maid placed her quill in the book to keep her place as she perched her head up to look at Jaina. A hint of worry wrinkled her tanned brow in trepidation. Her eyes narrowed incredulously. "Do you think those orcs will garner enough control over themselves at the sight of blood at these games?" She inquired warily.

Many humans looked at orcs as they did wolves. They were not to be trusted in the slightest, extremely dangerous, and the scent of fresh spilt blood in their noses could drive them absolutely more rabid than they already were.

Orcs revealed in the blood of their foes and honored the blood of their fallen kin. Life, for the savage people, seemed to gorily revolve around anything that would shed the crimson essence of life. They even smeared the blood of the fallen upon their bodies in tribute or insult to their foes and friends alike.

True, the festivities would be of brute brawn and skill with blades and war cunning, but the more the arch mage delved into orcish culture with Thrall guiding her through the bellicose way of life, the more she found intriguing in their dealings with blood shed and the arts of slaughter.

Days that she parleyed with the orcish people, she found an entirely irrepressible new layer under the proposed barbarity the Alliance claimed was all the orcs knew in their primal minds. There was so much more under their brutish rituals and way of life. They cared, they loved, they sought to protect kith and kin, and their rituals dated back to time immemorial.

Theirs was a rich, proud culture behind the dark marsh green skin other humans never saw past.

The sorceress sagely shook her honey tresses to assure the worrisome maid in a nonchalant manner. A ghost of a small crossed her lush lips, hoping it would bolster the fretful Sarrah. "They will not lose control as you put it, Sarrah. Orcs respect their Warchief above all else and if Thrall doesn't desire them to create a field of blood they will stay their blows." She shrugged and resumed her work at her desk. "Besides, what good is gloating of your battle prowess if your foe is dead?"

There was no denying orcs were passionate about blood shed, but just as their human counterparts they had the need to gloat and preen and display their skill without finishing the kill so that the defeated would be branded with that mark of defeat.

"Careful, milady." Sarrah warn in a slight snort, more due to the dust in the magical regents wafting through the incense infused air than anything else. The dimness in the tent slightly adumbrated her features, but their was no hiding the female intuition glimmering in her doe eyes.

Taking up her Gryphon quill, a small, knowing grin deceivingly crossed her lips as she tapped the feather to the side of her nose slyly. "If some of the soldiers were around to hear you talk such they might say you were favoring the orcs for these games."

Jaina merely scoffed in abject ridicule at the remark. A disapproving frown marbled upon her face as she marked a few notes upon the parchment before her. Her bright cobalt eyes sat riveted on the task displayed at her attention, hoping a bright ruby blush wouldn't rise upon her rapidly heating cheeks.

"It's unnatural for you to speak nonsense, Sarrah." She reprimanded her oldest friend gently with a faint hint of irksomeness. "Of course I shall plant the banner of my favor with my men. The soldiers of Lorderan are strong, hearty warriors that beat back the fel cursed orcs once before."

"I suppose it would be counter productive to be casting your favors against your own _kind_." A subtly emphasis fell upon the last word though it was spoken nonchalantly so as though she was merely stating a well known fact.

At that, the arch mage did not return a retort, but placed her head lower to her oaken desk to finish perusing over the jotted reports upon her make-do table.

With a staunch will only a mage of her caliber could possess, the arch mage set her cobalt eyes upon the yellowing oilskin parchment. Fortifying her strength, her eyes sat riveted to read the scrawled messages seemingly without a hint of gathering any of the loyal servant sly implications.

Her only hope was that Sarrah would not see the no doubt fierce flush of ruddy scarlet mounted upon her cheeks like a banked fire. Such a flagrant gesture would show herself perceptively guilty of the words that had not been spoken but were clearly laid before her.

~8~8~

The day had been a rousing success, Thrall knew with a satisfied half smile as he watched the last opponents square off in the sparring ring. One human with a gray steel banded shield and blood flecked spiked mace circled tactfully about an orc from Hellscreams clan who wielded no more than two twin axes with bone hafts and onyx slate blades.

The competitors were evenly matched as far as he could surmise while watching the spectacle from his side of the encampment. He rested on thick, sable, freshly washed worg furs befitting an orcish chieftain of his bloodied caliber.

One knee was drawn up so that his muscled arm rested upon it while the other one rested flat and tingled from having fallen asleep.

A large tankard of frothing mead rested by his side for easy reach while Dan'ruk attended his needs. Normally, he abhorred anyone waiting on him, but he was Warchief and such a rank required to look the part on more special occasions such as displaying battle prowess against a worthy foe.

On the other side of the trampled field sprinkled with, sweat, tears, and more than a few drops of blood, the sorceress sat in a chair that had been hauled form her command tent. She sat rigid to attention in a way that made one think she was talking to you and only you when she addressed a winner or gave a condoling nod to a loser of a battle.

Her honey gold hair shifted free of whatever bind she had pulled it back from her face, but she left it free to dangle over one eye as she gazed intently on the fight.

A part of the far seer couldn't help but note that if he hadn't been paying so much attention to the arch mage a field away, he would have probably made a calculated assessment as to who would win. He truly did desire to concentrate, but it was nigh impossible with her sitting so far and yet so close away, her pink lips curved up ever so slightly as though taunting him to race over and kiss her again.

Oh to feel those lips on his; was there any greater prize in all Azeroth?

For a moment Jaina flicked her cobalt depths from the fight over to him as though she could feel his searing gaze stapled upon her. A flush mottled under his green marshy skin at being caught in his staring. It had not been the first day either had caught the other sneaking long, coveted glances over the trampled terrain.

Heat scorched his rough cheeks as the sorceress offered a small up tilt of her lips and dipped her head nearly unnoticeably back to the fight as a silent reminder to keep watching the combatant and not one another like love struck younglings at an Elders day dance.

With a small grunt, Thrall snatched up his tankard and gulped down the fortifying brew in one go all in the same smooth motion. Anything to get his eyes yanked away from the delicate arch-mage was a grateful welcome.

The foe were panting heavily by the time Thrall used the back of his hand to wipe the smear of slightly amber foam away from his thick lips. Brooklets of dark mead dribbled down his coarse beard, but he gave it no mind in order to focus on the battle raging in the epicenter of the encampment.

A feral growl erupted from the battling orcs lips as he charged with both axes swinging wildly to push the human back and gain ground. Blue armor rushed forward to the racing orc till their bodies crashed in a myriad of steely sparks of plate against axes. Clashes of battle rose high into the air as the two combatants gave it their all to impress their sides.

Swing after parry after lunge exerted from the sweating foe who stared daggers at one another as though their very eyes could deal damage upon their fierce opponent.

Placing the tips of her spell clever finger under her chin, Jaina knew imperatively the orc had the human beat as she watched the last moment of the mock bout.

In her sharp vision the arch mage saw the cunning glint in the wild orcs eyes, the plans that darted in his piggish ebony depths foretelling his ancient wit in the arts of warfare.

In a seemingly last ditch effort, the grunt feinted with a wide left swing that looked to forgo the tip of the shield and aim for the humans temple.

Expectedly, the foot man brought his shield low and up to lock his shield with the axe. At that point, it would be mere child's play to use his mace and deliver a horrific blow to the exposed ribs, successfully knocking the wind out of the orc and making him reel backwards.

However the right axe changed its defensive position from the orcs chest to swing the flat of the weapon against the human's skull like a paddle.

In a true battle scenario, the blow would have shorn the foot soldiers head nearly in two, but with a great warning from their indomitable Warchief, the blow landed with enough force simply to make the solider reel out of the ring with a spinning head, there for ending the match.

Mighty cheers and bloody shouts of victory rose up like thunder from the orcs gathered about. Boo's and a few misbegotten insults and talk of potions to enhance battle prowess were spewed from the humans who sneered and scowled at their country parts. The same was vice versa for the others that had previously lost and won on either side.

As the two combatants strode off the fields, one cockily with a swagger in his slightly limping gait, while the other staggered away with a hand lightly dabbing at the bright crimson bump rising upon his head to go see the attending priest, a stocky dwarf stamped up in the middle of the ring.

Gallo Aleeye was said to have the cleanest record for officiating games of strength. Jaina elected him with high praise for his astute honesty and keen eyes for cheaters who'd do anything to be triumphant in the eyes of all present.

Thrall had automatically trusted her decision knowing Jaina would never allow some one to jeopardize and strain an already taut relationship between the Horde and the Alliance.

The crotchety, red bearded dwarf rocked back thoughtfully upon his heels as he sagely stroked his waist length beard in heavy contemplation.

Under his thick beard of ruddy scarlet, Jaina had bestowed him an amulet to allow both orcs and humans to comprehend his gruff words.

Clearing his garbled, eternally gruff throat, he gazed sternly at the armor clad populace awaiting his announcement. "Lady Proudmoore and yer Warchief picked me to officiate, so I did the most honest job I be knowing how to do." He began in a grousing grumble, known in his kind. "A right many oh you folks won't be liken it, but as far is I kin tell, we gots ourselves a tie."

"A tie!" The echoed words rose from Horde and Alliance lips almost like a collective groan.

Such things were always precarious. One wrong person slighted in breaking the tie and the day would have been for naught.

Pulling on his leather cuirass the dwarven rifleman turned officiator scanned the crowd with a hard diamonded glare that brooked no argument. "Now, who'll be the folk representing the Horde and the Alliance?"

Roars thundered out from the mass of Horde and Alliance like the winds of a fierce tempest buffeting the land. Names were thrown out then replaced, cries of who was better sang through the air, and even a few orcs and humans drew their blades to prove their muscles then and there.

"Thrall and Jaina." A faceless voice in the crowd cried out in one strong voice that seemed to muffle all else and rise high above the fray of raucous shouts and lewd curses.

Immediately a dead silence fell over the gathering like a shroud of death had layered upon them. No one spoke, no one moved. Even the birds in the trees waiting for bits of food from the bountiful feast to come had stopped their childish squawking and gluttonous chirps.

"Thrall and Jaina." Another yelled catching on to the ingenious idea.

"Yeah, let them bout it out to see whose better."

"Five gold says the Warchief turns the pink-skin into a smear on the forest floor!"

"Ten gold says the Lady Proudmoore encases the orc in a block of ice and puts him on display in her war tent!"

Before either of them knew it their people had goaded them into the erected arena of trodden grass. Cheers echoed for the favored leader, fists punched into the gloomy air and weapons raised to see the tie breaker.

Who would be victorious; Thrall or Jaina?

The Warchief cast the arch-mage a glance of insecurity at their sudden precarious position. Neither had wanted to spar and display their prowess, but now, for a rare time their peoples seemed to be in one union.

Orcs roared their agreement with humans, side by side, despite their difference. Even some humans, mumbled doubts of Jaina's abilities, while a scant spattering of orcs gazed at their Warchief in suspicion that perchance the human's magic's were more…skilled in her hands than the elements in his own.

"Do we have a choice?" Jaina murmured under her breath as she smiled proudly to her forces.

Thrall raised his fist high into the air, coaxing a barbaric roar and the pounding of weapons slamming against shields in a war beat from his bellicose people. "We always have a choice, but do we really blow such a golden opportunity to unify our people?"

He had a point to his words, Jaina knew as much as she loathed to admit it. Humans and orcs were excitedly bantering together in broke common and orcish.

Humans where accepting hared earned gold's and silvers from orcs and vise versa for those going against the grain with their bets. Such a battle was drawing them together, far more than the entire afternoon and evening of bouts.

The arch-mage allowed a shallow sigh to insipidly cross the threshold of her pink mouth as she relented the desire to remain aloof from the fighting. With a quick flick of her hand she bound her honey gold hair back in its leather cord to keep from hampering her vision. A part of her always hated coming to blows.

"You have an excellent point, Warchief." Mischief flashed in the cerulean depths akin to a beacon of battle fervor and magic being drawn up. Smiling faintly she inclined her head ever so slightly to the orc. "Shall we proceeded?"

"Of course, Lady Proudmoore." Thrall conceded with a faint twitch of a grin upon his tusked features.

Confidence practically radiated from the Far Seer as he strode to his end of the ring. Black and gold battle plate glinted in the sparse rays that cascaded down upon them, making him look more of a war lord than usual. The wide tusked grin beaming upon his face and a strong stride bespoke absolute victory, and mayhap a bit of gloating over such a hearty challenge.

However fear nagged him like a demon ravenously gnashing at his soul. He had been trained by the best humans Blackmoore had in his manor. As a gladiator his prowess was unrivaled by orc or human alike.

Running a thick, battle hardened hand through his jet black tresses; he wondered would he perhaps go too far. The thrill of batted always stayed with him, even from those long years ago.

To see a human crumple under his final skull shattering blow or felling an ogre three times his size never left his mind and race of blood firing his veins. The heat of battle still flooded his body at the very thought of those days under Blackmoore's manor.

For years he had not fought for the display and amusement of others, but the feeling came rushing back in a tidal wave through his wise senses.

The fresh scents of blood wafting through his nostrils, the cheers of the crowd roaring his name, the heat of his blood like boiling water scalding his very veins till the only thing left in him was a fiery inferno of the kill.

Once both were at their respective ends of the sparring ring, Aleeye stepped into the center once more to commence with a few words. Tugging at his crimson beard, he addressed the pair in his coarse timbre, but looked at the crowd. "Same rules as always. First one forced out of the ring or knocked unconscious is the loser. No potions, no throwing grit and sand, no underhanded trickery. Blades or magic, at yer fancy but nothing more."

With that, the ever disgruntled stoic dwarf shuffled away from the ring to his position just outside the low rope fringing the grass.

After silence had quickly settled over the mass that watched, the rifleman fired off one shot from his well kept fire-arm to allow the match to begin. The sound of the blunderbuss resounded through the forest seemed to be the only sound upon the entire world as the match commenced.

A roar erupted from Thrall's snarling lips as he wasted no time loping towards the arch-mage. Each step was like a giant's stride, zoning in closer, closer, ever close.

In his dead run, he beckoned the spirits to his call, to aid him in the fight. Totems seemingly made of the dark wood surrounding them popped up like mystical flowers from the verdant land. Each glowed and hummed with energy waiting to be used at their singular purpose.

Jaina stepped back from her spot an inch, taken by surprise at the sudden ferocity of the intelligent, gentle orc she knew. Rage and blood gathered in his indigo eyes akin to carnelian storm clouds; much like his men when they were deep in the battle and swathed with the dark blood of their vile foes.

There before her was no Thrall, son of Durotan she recognized. This was a different Thrall altogether, one that seemed to predate the tactile Warchief and Far Seer she had come to know and perhaps...love.

His mace glowed a faint, misty blue tint as he grew ever nearer like some green meteor hurtling towards her.

All around her, the soldiers of Lorderan screamed warnings for her to move from the blow. Some clasped the sides of their heads, their finger digging nervously against their skulls while curses tumbling lowly from a few mouths as others frantically beseeched their deities she would snap out of whatever trance had enchanted her and make a move.

What was she doing? Was she frozen in terror, by the orc racing with a demons speed towards her slender frame garbed in nothing but modest cloth?

Seeing here there, calm and collected even only inches from her, Thrall did not register her intention before it was far too late. Air whooshed where his mace swung through the air in hopes to simply knock her out of the ring.

Perhaps that was her plan, to let him win, Thrall considered only for a confused moment before Jaina moved into action.

Even as the mace swished through the atmosphere, only air and magic met the Far Seer's blow. The Warchief nearly stumbled as the sorceress simply blinked out the way of the blow leaving nothingness to halt his inertia.

Taken off guard by the move he should have seen coming, Thrall cried out in surprise as his momentum sent him sprawling forward. To much weight was behind the swing, and not enough to keep his balance. He felt himself lurch forward, but could not grind his plate boots into the earth hard enough to stop his movement.

With a great thump upon the earth, the orc landed hard upon his stomach in a cloud of dust and clods of rich earth, merely inches away from the ring line. Oh his ribs would hurt in the morning for taking such a blow, he noted as coughs racked his lungs from the dust fillings his nose and mouth.

Behind him, his ears distinctly picked up a slight giggle that told him, she had known that was going to happen.

A slight, determined smile etched upon his tusked lips as he sought to find his feet. Well, if that's how she wanted to play…

Leaping to his feet, the shaman twisted around all in one smooth motion preparing to send a bolt of electricity in her direction. There was not much force behind it, only enough to send her flying out of the ring.

His eyes went wide as he saw the bright blue of an ice bolt sailing towards him before his lips could even move to entreat the spirits for lightening.

A grunt tumbled form his lips as he keeled back from the blow. His free hand clutched desperately at his chest, but the spell had only hit him in the area, that was not its direct target.

Fronds of ice trailed down his legs, and clenched over his muscles in a vice that halted his movements into nothing but an infuriatingly slow walk. It was a though frost had grown over every nerve and joint like moss to hamper his movements.

With such a spell upon his person she could easily pick him off without having to even move!

"Clever." Thrall murmured under his breath. Wiping the edge of his mouth slowly, he gave a brief nod to her cunning before to display a bit of magic of his own.

With a supplication to the spirits of earth, he watched the surprise bloom over her face as roots sprang from the ground where his totem once stood.

Gnarled roots and vines shot up like a geyser from the very earth. Magical undergrowth coiled firmly about her legs and feet halt any moment at all. The claws of Azeroth itself rose to keep her in its clutches.

The crowd cheered wildly at both their leader's prowess. Raucous voices rang through the forest, making the very leaves tremble with their applauding and lauding of their favored commander.

Knowing she was rooted to the very earth, Thrall did not mind in the least his every step was agonizingly slow. Ice and frost melted with every step as though spring was blooming around him. With each crunch of his boots, he could feel the thaw in his lower extremities and the hold of ice loosing its grip.

Her spell was weakening whilst his stayed strong in keeping her pinned.

The ice had nearly worn off as he was finally face to face with the darkly frowning sorceress.

A large, victorious grin stamped upon his features as he crossed his muscles engorged arms and stared down at the glowering woman. "You're clever, Jaina. You nearly made me fall out the ring." He chuckled good naturedly in his deep bass akin to a rumble of thunder. "Now if you don't mind I'll just haul you up and carry you out of the ring."

"Why Warchief." Jaina allowed a sly smile to play upon her lovely face as her voice took on an almost ethereal quality. A spry laugh tittered over the wind almost like a specter long forgotten. "Which one of me are you going to carry?"

"Me?" Another ethereal voice asked to his side in the same amusement.

"Or me?"

"How about me?"

A confused look furrowed darkly over his marsh green brow as he turned away from the smile Proudmoore caught in the roots. His mouth slowly gaped open, for all around him, three other Jaina's stared smiling at him.

Around them the crowd of Alliance talked in low excitement to one another at the expert display of magic. "Orcs done for sure now, I've only seen the Lady Proudmoore use that same spell a handful of times and when she does, woe betide her foe."

"Impressive." Thrall admitted as he slowly twirled in a circle trying to keep on the move despite he was surrounded. He brandished his mace expertly, his muscles easing and tensing beneath his teal flesh. "But which one is the real Jaina?"

They all shrugged good naturedly, speaking as one like some echo. "To bad you won't find out until you submit."

All about him, each of the mirror images began to summon a spell to their hand fire, ice and arcane licked at their grips as they prepared to bombard the Warchief and make him stumble away.

As their magic's flew, instantly, the Far Seer raised one hand to the firmament as though trying to catch a rain drop. Abruptly a shield of rock seemed to plummet from the sky. Each blocked a power that was flung at him though the rock burst into a puff of pebbles and grit.

"Earth shield." Thrall explained to the stunned sorceress copies around him. It was now their turn to stare in amazement. Thrusting out his hand, he pointed to the image that had used ice, Jaina's favored school of magic to study. "And this is what the elder shamans call Purge."

Immediately the other Jaina's began to fade as though they were mist begin evaporated by a summer sun. Each grew fainter and fainter till they where nothing but smoke upon the air, leaving only the true Jaina who was behind the Far Seer.

Twisting about quickly, Thrall sought to grab her by the cords of her cloak and in turn send her flying out of the ring. All it would take was one pull and the match would draw to its end.

Another spell dashed from her lips in frenzied alarm hoping to pin him in place by a quick spell of ice to grow over his boots and legs.

This time, however, Thrall saw the move coming before the words had fully left her mouth.

In a blink of an eye, his wind totem absorbed her spell leaving Thrall free of the magic about to be chained upon him.

A cunning smirk fell about his tusked lips as the arch mage blinked rapidly in surprise. "Surely you don't think me so unobservant to your wiles, Lady Proudmoore?" He taunted slightly, unable to resist the jab.

His thick fingers curled of the clasp to her cloak as he pulled her forward. For all her strength in magic, she did not have the power to escape his hold with mere strength. All he had to do was simply carry her to the edge of the ring and deposit her on the outside.

She returned his smirk with a wide, wicked smile beaming over her lovely sweat pricked features. "Unfortunately for you, Thrall, I never underestimate my opponents." Jaina rebuffed.

Before Thrall could move the arch-mage swung out her staff in a some what clumsy last attempt to be free of his clutches. The metal sang through the air as though whistling its last dirge of trying to be triumphant.

Instinctively Thrall threw a hand up to block the blow, and in turn allowing Jaina to slip free of her cloak.

With a cry to the elements he sent up another air totem to absorb any spell she had prepare to toss in his direction.

Her clever escape, while commendable did not take away the fact she could not blink again, yet, and she had scrambled only a step away. Her dodging was a last ditch effort for the inevitable.

However, even with the spell absorption totem down, a spell did not come blurting from her mouth. No, ice, fire, or arcane did not fly towards his person. Her powerful magic's did not sing through the air as she summoned her craft.

Instead, she grasped her staff like a pole arm and thrust the crystal, knife like violet shards towards Thrall's throat.

The Warchief, totally taken aback by the maneuver, of weapons instead of her vaunted magic, stepped back to avoid the fine needle point of the mystical crystals.

Perhaps he should have paid attention to his footing on the battle field as well. A cry of alarm erupted in a gasp from his throat as the earth fell from under him.

A collective gasp from the orc distilled into the shaded land of the dark forest as they looked upon their Warchief out of the ring, the Lady Proudmoore towering over his body, with her staff point directed at his throat.

Her brow arch in mock curiosity as the shaman sucked in huge amount of air and blinked at her in shock. "Hmm, perhaps you need to begin observing more than my wiles, would you agree son of Durotan?" She jested. A thin smile crossed her lips, as she stepped aside to allow Thrall to rise.

Planting her staff by her side, she reclined slightly upon it for support after their strenuous battle. A few rebellious strands had fallen out of their binding, but she blew them away with a breath.

The Warchief towered before the small sorceress who had to tilt her head up to face him. Air heaved greedily through his massive march green body like forge bellows at work. Cold, cobalt blue eyes clashed with her ice sapphire depths as they stared at one another for long minuets.

The crowd, both human and orc alike, looked on breathlessly. Even the indomitable Aleeye did not move to the ring to declare the winner. It didn't matter; all knew who won in a brilliant display of weapons and magic.

After a time the hard thin line of his lips uplifted to a wide smile. Laughter rumbled from his chest like peals of faraway thunder. Taking Jaina's hand gently in his grip he lifted her fist high into the air. It was her moment; she was the winner in more than one sense.

Roars of the crowds made the leaves above tremble at the sportsman like gesture. Though few orcs grumbled at the win, most were far to caught up in applauding the expert display of combat witness.

While they may not have liked the human sorceress that was no deny her prowess. She had defeated Thrall honorably, Warchief to Warchief in orcish eyes.

~8~8~

The bonfires merrily lit about the defenders encampment had fallen to subdued red-orange embers flaring sporadically every now and again upon the charred wood, as the feast dribbled off to a halt.

Engorged figures of humans and orcs lounged in satisfied oblivion side by side with their bellies stuffed on roasted meat and strong mead tapped from the finest kegs.

Humans laid keeled over on the rough wooden benches with bits of greasy meat still in their grips, and orcs lay sprawled senselessly out in every direction from the prickly undergrowth to the food and plate littered tables still clutching the heady dwarven stouts that accompanied the evening meal.

The night fell over them in a shroud of contented repose that allowed them a restful slumber with the crickets of Ashenvale serenading in the night with the mournful songs of the owls and the whippoorwills crooning in tune.

Food and fighting, nothing would bring people together faster.

"I'd say today was a glorious success." Thrall planted a tender kiss upon Jaina's lips. His fingers played with the ends of her flaxen tresses as he allowed her to engulf his tactile sensibilites.

The pair snuggled comfortably in the dimness of Jaina's tent, invisible to the callous eyes of the judging, cruel world as they shared a quiet moment together in one another arms.

The arch mage returned the kiss with a deep passion before untangling their lips. She rested her head upon the soft, off gray woolen shirt over his slowly rising chest.

He was so warm after the hard carapace of black and gold plate was shed; like a fire was forever guttering inside his soul.

A small sliver of guilt, being with him in such a manner, and seeing him in that sense rose, but it died away quicker than it had come.

On past nights when their display of affection was still new and albeit exotic, she rested in bed staring up at the dark blue fabric of her tent. Guilt stole her repose of slumber away at the thoughts of doing something behind everyone's back. Theirs was an alliance of dire necessity and yet they had become so much more.

Over time, however, the guilt sulked about her thoughts less and less, love banishing it back to its small corner where it rarely dared to poke its head out when she was at her strongest. Tonight, however, her tenacity and indomitable fortitude was lacking.

Shaking the thought away, Jaina allowed a small smile in the darkness of her tent. "I agree. Never would I thought orcs and humans would be of one accord so fervently to see us square off."

"Not only that, my peoples respect for you has blossomed ten fold. They have forgone calling you pink-skin, to Warchief Proudmoore, an honorable title for a strong leader. It is rare they refer to any chieftain by such a title not of orcish blood." Thrall chuckled deeply bringing a larger smile to her pink lips.

Shifting his burly arms he nestled her in a more comfortable position upon his chest for both of them. He adored having her close, to smell the scent of her body and hair, and feel her strange, soft creamy flesh with his roughened finger pads smoothing along her porcelin skin.

Often times he held her so close, he wondered how something to delicate and precious could ever survive with out the natural weapons of tusks and primal instincts. Their protruding noses in lieu of flat wide nostril looked to him a huge inconvenience, and her stature had to make him astounded their race flourished and survived at all during the years, much less thrived.

Orc males appreciated brawn and strength in their females, large tusks and murder billowing in their eyes. They wanted hearty warrior women to birth strapping sons and daughters for battle and carnage.

True, she was extremely odd compared to a fierce orcish female, but not ugly or repulsive to him.

They sat slightly upright upon the soft worg furs, his body leaning upon one of the tent poles that held her private sanctuary aloft.

It had been an exciting and tiring day for both leaders. Only when the feast was well underway and their people elbow deep in hearty stag and warm mead did Thrall have the time to pull Jaina away and truly show her how much he wanted to congratulate her for winning the challenge.

Ever since that evening of their brawl he desired to meet those lips to his own.

Lauding her prowess in combat whispered from his lips in every breathless exchange where they parted for air. He praised her with ever tender owning of her lips, wanting her to know how much he had loved seeing that side of her come out.

Despite all the human quality instilled in him as a young orc, to have a woman such as she locked in combat with him sent his blood racing with a fire that made the fervor of battle pale in comparison. Some primal nature of his orcish heritage never washed away, Thrall noted with a hint of amusement and satisfaction as he buried his face into her honey gold locks.

"My men where impressed by your combat." The sorceress admitted in a tired yawn. "I over heard some admitting to their fellows that they were glad you were on our side."

A hum of approval rumbled from Thrall's throat. Wrapping an arm around her thin form, his large thumb made small circled patterns upon her back. "I never thought I'd see the day humans and orcs got along so well."

"If only it would last." Jaina sighed in melancholy.

There was no use thinking such camaraderie would remain. It was a boon this night, but in the morning the grumbling would arise again and the hostilely would seem loom over them like a shadow of death. Though they had proven they could come together for a common goal, it wouldn't last.

"True." Thrall concurred with a morose acceptance and a faint motion of his head. A small smile of optimism found its way to his lips as he nuzzled against her. "But before I found you tonight, I received word from one of the elven sentinels. Tyrande and Stormrage have concocted a plan, they'd like to run it by us first thing dawn tomorrow."

While both Thrall and Jaina were in the talks, it was the millennia ancient elves of the timeless land who knew the connection with nature and had dealt with the force of the Legion before. Their ways to combat the menace where far more accurate than anything the sorceress or Warchief could concoct or enact.

"Another boon today." the arch mage managed another smile, though there was still not much to grin about.

Thrall held her tighter his head inclining to find her own. His voice was low and husky as Jaina tilted her head up to meet his lips in another sweet kiss.

Their mouths barely brushed one another's; the warmth of their breath mingling in the cool night air that heralded mist upon the morrow. "For what little hours are left in this day, let us revel in the success before wading through the turmoil." The Warchief suggested gently. Knock a lock of her wheat colored hair away from her face with his calloused hand; he smiled tenderly upon the sorceress. "Shall we worry about tomorrow at dawn and not till then?"

Jaina, optimistically filled with sense that something was finally going right in their desperate agenda to push back the threat clawing over their world, whole heartedly agreed by smashing her lips fiercely against his own.

Worries could wait on the morrow. Tonight, she wanted him and him alone to drive everything else away.


	14. Defense or Flee?

A dark zephyr whispered through the thick boughs in the ever twilight shaded realm of Ashenvale. Each faint wail of the breeze wretchedly brought the stench of evil upon its wafting winds. The wind itself advised, in its lofty crying timbre, to forgo all hope; to lie down and wait for the heel of death to mercifully end their pitiful mortal lives with inevitable wave of doom.

What little sky could be seen through the adumbrate canopy was a leaden gray slab of forlorn firmament churning over the whole of Kalimdor akin to a shroud of despondency. Clouds, pregnant with a vile rain, swirled angrily above in the coming of the Legion.

It wouldn't be long, Stormrage knew, more, far powerful demons would soon arrive upon their sacred land and seek to rip the last hope for all of Azeroth asunder.

His intense teal tresses swayed against his unreadable features as the dire wind played through his long locks of jade.

Nature itself cried out to him. The hawk shrieked it warning from above as it flew ungainly upon the perilous winds. Beasts of the earth roared and purred their anxiousness, their hairs upon end and hackles raised to slash and bite the repugnant foe slithering through their timeless glades. Even the life in the dark, fathomless seas bellowed their unrest as though the waters carried gossip of what transpired upon the land and how if those that stood to barricade the way lost, their icy waters would dry to less than sand and grit.

His gnarled, claw like fingers curled tightly over the ancient wood of his staff as his jaw slightly twitched though his face was kept in an assiduous veil of millennia patience and wisdom.

Below the craggy plateau he stood upon, the land of Ashenvale and beyond could be seen for miles. The world spread out like a carpet of greens and brows rolled before him; rich and lush and thriving. Even high, high in the foggy distance upon the summit of mount Hyjal the outline of the world tree, their very life line to the world, the object that instilled their immortality could be seen at such a distance in a dull pinkish glow of morn.

Trees of all shapes and creeds sprawled out bucolically before him. Mist from the night still wreathed their heavy boughs making it almost seem akin to a mystical sea never before discovered. Who knew what ancient mysteries still pervaded their lands?

The sky was alit in the gray of morn with tinges of dusky pink and vibrant purples streaking upon the very cusp of the world in banner of glory.

Home. The pleasant, yet melancholic thought of that one simple word brought a ghost of a smile to his bearded lips. Home the very thing that warmed all men's hearts, and yet it was that which was most precious to them that was constantly in jeopardy.

"Malfurion." Tyrande's ever calm voice announced serenely in the early hours of the morn. Her steps were quieter than an ants stride upon the earth as she neared to stand beside him. Closing her solid amethyst eyes, and breathing deeply, she gratefully took in the smells of early dawn, and the cool air that burned her lungs. Taking in the gorgeous view of misty bluish gray fog hovering below in the wide gulches and shaded glades below the outcropping, she spoke lowly to her husband as though words would disrupt the tranquil if not ominous dawn. "Lady Proudmoore and Warchief Thrall have arrived."

An extremely tired sigh whispered from the arch druid's lips as his raven feather bedecked shoulders drooped downward slightly. For an elf that had spent thousands upon thousands of years in the Emerald Dream, he felt more exhausted than ever before. Having the Legion return dredged up old memories that assailed his convictions and stoic heart. They brought back thoughts of his brother, and the choices they had made thousands upon thousands of years prior.

"My deepest thanks for leading them here, beloved." He replied intimately before, his clawed hand resting upon her slender shoulder before shifting his features into staunch neutrality.

Turning about to face the pair, his angular face showed nothing of the tiredness in the lines at the edge of his eyes and the worry he felt brewing down in his immortal heart at the choices he would inflict upon an entire people. But it had to be done. For the sake of all.

The sky was still a faint charcoal gray, but well enough especially for a night elf to see as the arch druid planted his oak wood stag headed staff firmly into a jagged crevice in the rock and addressed the strange pink and green being before him. The blue tassels upon the weapon fluttered and snapped in the wind as though demanding their silence. "As we have told you we have beaten this enemy before at a great cost to the most aged foundations of the earth and our peoples. It took the very breaking of the world to keep the sordid clutches of the Legion away from this our home. No price for safety will ever be cheaply paid. It must be earned through blood and steel and magic and life."

Slowly, the druid hefted his staff and pointed it behind him into the gray morning distance. His sable, crow like eyes searched the two before him to measure their reactions. "Do you see that gray, towering mass far on the horizon?" He asked sternly though calm in the same instance.

Both the mage and the shaman nodded laconically, their brows knit in furtive confusion.

"A mountain?" Jaina queried curiously, as her eyes narrowed like that would enhance her vision.

Tyrande chuckled and shook her thick mane of turquoise sagely. "Far from it. What you see so far, miles and miles away, is a tree shrouded in legend itself."

"A tree?" Thrall's tone was laced thickly with incredulity, his mouth twisted into a look of disbelief, confusion, and dubiousness. He stroked his coarse, bearded chin in wise contemplation. "How can one tree be seen at such a distance? The massiveness of it must be astounding."

"More than astounding." Malfurion revealed in his rich, ancient timbre, dominating the very air he spoke. "It is what our people call Norrdrasil, the world tree." Abruptly the druid turned away from the pair and back to stare over the precipice upon moss strewn rock which they stood. Dark eyes, and perhaps, not just his own, sat riveted to the indistinguishable mass towering into the growing daylight like a beacon to the evil that sought to destroy the roots of the world.

Pride welled within him at the sight, but also sadness like seeing an old dying friend fighting tenaciously for each breath.

"It is more than just a tree…far more." He spoke at length as though correcting to children. "Its growth and magic dates back to before your great grandsire or your seventh great grandsires and even further before they were even thoughts." Knelling down the arch druid let his long fingers taper over the rough, porous grain on the rock and softness of the moss and lichen as though caressing the earth. "The roots bind all the earth, through land and sea. Its powers are those only the makers could scarcely harness. Through its predecessor the moon well and now this edifice of might and magic of the very world of Azeroth, we were bestowed immortality."

Another sigh crossing his dark bearded lips was spirited away by the newly gusting wind, whispering the warning of the Legion's master drawing ever closer. His cloak swished and rustled about his dark leather boots as he rose stiffly and turned to them all in the same motion.

Sadness and loss flashed in his completely lilac hued eyes as he stared from the orc to the human morosely. His heavy brow revealed the wrinkles of worry, the lines upon his face dictating his fear. For the first time he showed the vulnerability in his thick hide. "No victory over the Legion comes at a small toll, and for our sacrifice, if all goes to plan, we shall loose our very immortality." His eyes seemed to glimmer with perhaps regret of something utterly precious for a moment before they hardened determinedly. "And yet this is our sum of what we shall endure. Your peoples shall carry a hefty burden as well. The Legion is nigh unstoppable. To prepare our plans we must have time, we must have fresh bodies to damn the flow of devils that seek to stop our last efforts and bring the world to wrack and ruin."

"Which is where we come in?" Jaina concluded lowly. A bit of her prickled at the thought of being no more than a meat shield for a plan the eldest of druids proclaimed only had a slight chance of success.

Pulling her cloaks hood down, she stepped forward closer to the elves. Her fierce cobalt depths were ablaze with injustice as her gaze bored viciously into Malfurion. "You expect us to stack upon one another like a wall of worthless carcasses to delay their advance while you consult with trees and roots and pray to your moon woman that all goes accordingly?"

"I will have no disrespect to Elune, human!" Tyrande snapped angrily, her bow out and drawn taunt instantly.

Thrall growled protectively over the sight of Jaina being aimed down by the silver and ivory bow, though he knew she could handle her own just fine. His bruises dappled upon his flesh under his armor still testified to that.

Seeing her in the line of fire brought out feral possessiveness in him, he had nary known in any time. There was a owning there he felt for her and a rising anger that heated his blood at anyone attempting or implying to do her harm. To him it seemed as though his mate was being harmed, and that itself brought the barbaric orc out with blades brandished and mouth frothing.

Unsheathing his mace he rolled it in his hands warningly, ready to toss it at the high priestess. "Jaina has a point, you must admit." He reasoned in a low dangerous timbre. "If your deity is so great why has she not pushed their threat back to the nether?"

Tyrande did not deem reply, but it was obvious a lance of pain crossed her snarling aquiline features. Perhaps she too had contemplated the same those nights in whatever temple they held to beseech her Elune.

"Are…is the Legion that powerful?" Jaina questioned, in attempts to diffuse the situation she had unintentionally provoked. She had nothing against the priestess deity, but seeing how highly the elven folk valued her by their constant supplication to the Blue Lady and the First Child, their Elune appeared deaf to their desperate pleas.

Having a deity that hadn't aided much the first time such travesty occurred and when they still found themselves in such a situation again and still no divine aid, left her feeling bereft of consideration for the so called 'Mother Moon'.

Malfurion nodded ever so slightly, trying to hurdle over his wife's fervency toward their patron deity. "Their might is great. Rest assured, if you both decided to aid in fending off the Legion, your camps will not hold them back forever. As crude as it may sound, you provide little more than a temporary barricade." At that he paused for a moment to stare at them solemnly. He held his hands out to them, a night elven gesture deemed as begging or need of aid or alms. "And now you have a choice laid at your feet. Help, or hide and hope that you can survive after the world is drained dry…" The arch druid finished with a cryptic grimace as the cold wind tousled his cloak and hair towards the hazy might of the world tree.

~8~8~

"We can't possibly do this, Thrall." Jaina shook her head as she paced at a blinding speed back and forth in his command tent.

Scrolls and maps and inventory supply charts were laid out before them upon the littered table in some messy pile of nothing that would help. Alliance charters mingled indiscriminately with Horde plans, supplies and reports all tossed together in one disastrous wreck.

With what the elves had in store, everything had to be changes, plans adjusted, and even military schemes replayed.

She threw her hands up in exasperation. "They want us to be…be…meat shields! Fodder for the field. Using our blood to make the foe slip!"

"What choice do we have?" Thrall broached sullenly, his thick brow clouded with trouble and insecurity. He too did not deem to fling his people at an undefeatable enemy. There was a difference between foolishness and cowardice in the ways of battle; even orcs understood that.

Taking a long draught of the pale ale in his huge tankard he fought for time to list his thoughts in a proper concise manner. "If we fail we lose our lives. Should the miraculous chance we succeed many still lose their lives. And if we choose no path at all."

"We lose our world." The arch mage finished quietly in a tone of despair.

Halting her frenzied pacing she turned to the grisly Far Seer. "Thrall, my people have already been through so much." Her eyes looked away as she ran her spell clever finger through her honey gold tresses. "They have endured their homes being wrought to rubble, their children and spouses and friends and families slain or transformed into grotesque monstrosities of mindless, walking dead. No man in my camp does not have a tale that would not made your stomach plummet. They were tired when I rallied them after tragedy struck their very lives. They were fatigued when we ventured into the haunts of the mountains. They were exhausted when I they walked into this forest. And now I must ask them to give more?"

Thrall turned his to the sloshing ale in his wooden tankard. He had not truly considered that and what toll such a journey had taken on the already weakened humans. When the Oracle came to him, it was in a dream rife with battle and a burning sky raining meteors of brimstone. The orcs were simply trying to survive and avoid human capture in the Arathai Highlands. They did not endure some tragedy that rocked their very race.

Now, looking back on all those things, Thrall could not help but see Jaina in a new light of exalted admiration. He was dubious he could do the same in her position, much less take them as far as they had.

She shook her head all the while not realizing her tears streaked down her pale cheek at the unfairness of it all. "No. They cannot give anymore. I cannot give anymore."

"Jaina." Thrall began to address the sorceress, but his words dribbled off pathetically. What could he say? Certainly he could not begrudge her weariness or deny her men's fatigue.

She didn't appear to hear him lost the morass of despondency. Her eyes where far away and wild as though she could imagine the carnage if they fought. She pictured their corpses splayed upon the blood soaked grass, bodies cloven in two, demons dragging back stalwart friends to devour and torture for their vile games, and the screams rising up like mist evaporated by the summers sun. And she would be forced to watch as the battle raged endlessly, and truly without any sort of victory assured to them.

"I never wanted to be a leader Thrall." She dabbed at her eyes, feeling foolish for shedding tears. "All I ever wanted to do was study. I am no Warchief, no general, no warrior….What- what if I fail this perilous task balancing through sheer destruction and having enough men to let sail back home?"

"You will not fail." Thrall assured in his deep, rumbling timbre. Before Jaina could blink his burly, muscle toned arms were wrapped about her slender form. His bulk pressed against her comfortingly, as he pressed her close. "You won't fail." He echoed tenderly, his azure eyes were soft and warm. Slowly, his thick hand stroked her flaxen mane comfortingly. "If you fall then surely I will as well. You are the strongest person I know. I could not do what you have done."

Did he truly think that? Jaina stared deeply into his startling blue hued depths. There was something else there now than simply the exotic curiosity of kissing a human and exploring what such a different species had to offer. In his eyes she saw…love. Yes, she knew it was love for it mirrored what she saw in herself.

She rewarded the Far Seers bolstering, up lifting, words with a small kiss upon his lips. "Thank you, Thrall. Some times I feel so overwhelmed I lose my head. You are correct this is the only choice."

While she didn't like it, truly, it was the only viable option. A sigh crossed her lips as she moved to disentangle herself from his grip, but Thrall held on a trifle longer, not wanting to let go so soon.

"I…I'll always be here for you Jaina when you think the weight is too much." The Warchief replied suddenly as though he possessed no control of his on tongue for one instance.

In that moment, the arch mage knew he had spoken with his heart and not his brilliant mind. Tears glimmered unshed in her cobalt orbs at such a touching promise. Lifting her hand she gently stroked the side of his rough cheek tenderly. "You have no idea how much that means to me."

For a moment they simply stood there, enjoying one another so close; Thrall having her so near to his great thumping heart, whilst the sorceress dictated the feel of his marsh green flesh to memory.

Untangling from his warm grip, the arch mage breathed in a huge gulp of air as though new life had been flushed through her. Disparity could be seen no where upon her, determination flashed in her indigo orbs, holding testament to her sheer will to keep the foe at bay.

"Now, we must make plans as best we can and prepare to make camp." She stated strongly. "Soon we march to the base of mount Hyjal, and the survivors of Lorderan shall be the first in the defense."

**~8~8~ **

_A/N: If you have never played the Warcraft 3 PC game. In the last campaign, Jaina is the first line of defense. While I thought that was fun, we will probably not go all up in the campaign. That would take forever! _


	15. A Change in Leadership

_A/N: Long time, I know, I know, but I haven't given up! _

**~8~8~**

The sturdily erected base of the Alliance encampment burned in a fiery inferno as the humans of Lorderan made their final defense at their base camp. Stalwart timbers of the garrison and healers infirmary made from the thick trees at the base of Hyjal smoldered dull red and cracked and twisted into nothingness sending plumes flaky fire into the acrid air.

Hotly glowing embers swirled along the breezes catching oiled tent sides afire and any dry straw of practice dummies or linen for bandages. The air was rife with thick, oily gray smoke that belched into the canopy of the towering trees and wafted close down to the hearty souls below in a stinking, dangerous miasma of black choking fumes.

Undead and slavering demons, giddy for carnage rushed over the white walls fastidiously built up to repel their invasion. Creatures of nightmare sprang from the thick adumbrated forest in waves of destruction to obliterate the encampment. For three weeks their attacks were in vain, but now, the stones were crumbling, the strength of the fighters flagging with every desperate swing. They would take the encampment and another part of the forest for their cruel master.

Sharp serrated claws thrust through solid stone and thick forest timber as ghoul and fiend clambered up the white walls and boiled over the precipices like crazed ants from over the rim of their hill. Many landed on their clawed or rotted feet whilst others crumpled to broken piles of bones and taunt rotting flesh from the leap.

Others that survived the fall over the ramparted wall met arrows and blades and magic of the last defense. Humans and a spattering of frothing orcs along with the odd druid of the claw given in aid from the night elves battled the nightmarish legion with desperation of the utterly hopeless.

Blades glinted through the air and came back flecked with hot, black blood. Elves in their bear forms swiped their thick, shaggy paws through whole bodies and orcs ripped out throats of their former demon masters. Shrieks from humans and devils alike roared through the air in ear shattering cries. Rotted chunks sprayed through the air, sending gagging globs of putrid, maggot ridden flesh unto the defenders ranks.

Large, lumbering meat wagons loaded with stones and the bodies of the fallen assaulted the walls. Cracks formed on the fortifications and stones erupted inwardly showering demon and human alike with rubble.

But still they kept fighting. What else were they to do?

"Retreat, retreat!" Jaina ordered over the cries and yells of battling peasants and footmen alike. Ice bolts and fire spouts halted the oncoming charge of the legion in little burst of puissant magic, allowing the terrified soldiers to tactfully retreat from the rabid enemy.

None denied the order for the retreat was long in coming they all knew and there was no shame in backing away from a nearly undefeated force. Shields went up to deflect the jagged claws and healing rains swept down to renew the odd cuts. The method was effective but for a long term retreats not ideal.

Abruptly, a savage roar cut from the forest like a war horn calling them to rally. Racing through the dense undergrowth like a marshy teal wave, the Horde hit the undead like a tide, giving more of the warriors more time to retreat. Green skin and black demon flesh mingled in a whirlpool, driving the offending demons back enough for a full retreat of wounded.

A feral snarl and paw beats rushed beside Jaina in a bloody gust rife with worg hair and the stench of battle. A smile stole upon her dry lips, knowing Thrall would be right on time as always.

Reining his worg beside her, the Warchief scanned the battle whilst offering healing to his people in chains of magic. "What's the situation, Lady Proudmoore?" He asked through gritted teeth, focusing his mind on his powers.

"There's too many, we're making a direct route to your base, Warcheif." She replied with a grim nod. They had all known the day was coming. Theirs was a fate to only slow the advancement not crush the legion by their lonesome.

Thrall nodded, lighting coming down to strike a few enterprising demons that had jumped in front of the rest. Flame erupted again their flesh with the force of such elements. Power crackled through their horrendous bodies, turning their skin into flaky onyx ash. Pawing and clawing at their forms their shrieks rose into the air before dying away on the acrid breeze.

"And the traps are in place?" He asked in a growl as he wiped vicious streaks of slimy black sludge off his tarnished breastplate.

She smiled evilly nodding her head. The traps had been both their ideas when the time came to retreat there first line of defense. "By the time we reach the pass, we should be able to hear the boom." She confirmed with a terse nod, her golden locks flying through smoke filled air.

The Warchief allowed a grim smile to break upon his lips. "Right, lets cover the rear, looks like we've evacuated all we could."

They couldn't save everyone but those they could not reach had no chance of living. Theirs was a fate unwanted by any, but one they chose to allow.

The injured and stragglers moved as fast as possible up the pass. The narrow passage was the only true route connecting the Horde and Alliance bases. Cutting right through the forest, the trail could be seal up making more of a stumbling block for the legion. Their meat wagons wouldn't be able to go through the clogged passage and if they played their hands right, they could catch a fair portion of them under rubble.

Defenders not injured battled with the Warcheif and the sorceress as the injured were hauled out of the given territory. A bitter sweet relief filled their bursting hearts knowing they were alive mostly, but sourness coated their souls in that the legion was a little closer to their goal.

All gave a ragged cheer as the pass to freedom came in sight. Many cocked there ears in hopes of the explosion that would turn the encampment to nothing but a smoldering crater. With their last act of genius for the base all the demons and undead who stood in the encampment would be demolished by magic and goblin sapper equipment set to blow.

Footsteps lagged to a halt in eagerness. Drivers in carts halted their beasts of burden to hear the sound of demons squealing in agony.

Silence.

A minuet more.

Silence.

Wariness contorted the faces of the fighters with an anxious glare. Nervous looks flickered from orc and human alike in a troubled stare. The leaders and captains looked at one another in worry, their bottom lips worked by nibbling in anxiousness; what had gone wrong? The explosion should have been heard through all the forest at the base of Hyjal.

"I have to find out what's wrong." Thrall turned back down the pass.

"No." Jaina declared stoically, putting a firm hand on his shoulder. Her spell clever fingers squeezed against his armor, whishing there was no metal to stop the touch of her skin upon his.

A grisly frown etched darkly upon his tusked lips. Head down, un-mounted his worg and fixed the saddle. He refused to see what danced in her eyes that only he could know. The worry for him, the fear she had for his well being. He refused to let her gaze weaken his resolve with fear of never seeing her again. "You know I am the only one who can go check on them." He replied gruffly relying on his will to see him through.

She brooked no more argument, as Thralls body faded in and out and a wolf stood by her feet. His faithful dire worg by his side.

Turning to his people, his voice barked out of the wolf's muzzle. "You will take orders from Lady Proudmoore till my return." He commanded fiercely, his indigo eyes daring challenge even in ghost wolf.

Satisfied of their silence, the shaman turned back down the path. Running down the pass at a loping gait, dust curled under is paws and flung in tiny spurts into the air. His faithful worg followed beside him at a steady pace, willing to never leave her master.

"Orders, Lady Proudmoore?" Darren and Dan'ruk asked in unison, their eyes focused on Thrall.

Her lips twisted grimly determined. She would not simply move on whilst he went down alone against an encampment filled with the living dead and demons. "We wait here till Thrall returns."

"And if he doesn't?" Dan'ruk rumbled anxiously, his eyes pinioned to the faded blue blot of the warchief loping along the trampled grassy pathway. The words were hard but they had to be spoken. There was a chance their indomitable Warchief would not make it back alive.

Jaina sighed, pushing her hair back from her face in agitation. "Then we move on, to your base. In the meantime, tend to the wounded that require the quickest attention."

Both lieutenants nodding going to their allotted tasks.

Dan'ruk walked into the makeshift orcish encampment set in the gullied pass. The stench of blood and death nearly made him heave with every tenacious step over the trampled earth. Forcing calm, he settled his stomach and strode briskly to where the healers had laid pallets and tents.

Screams echoed from under the dirt and blood strewn lean-to's, making Thralls apprentice cringe. Gory images came unbidden to his mind like flashes of nightmare he still sometimes had about internment camps. Still, he had to help.

Before he could enter the tents bodies blocked his way to the healers. The orcish chieftains, stood in his way, some looking uneasy, the others violent staring at him for answers. They knew he would have been there, knowing he would do all in his extensive power to aid those who fought so bravely.

Dan'ruk sighed tiredly, rubbing a kink in his neck. He should have seen the corner coming, he knew depressingly. Thrall had united the clans under his rule, but the separate clans had been governed by there respective chieftains, those chieftains being under Thralls command. The orcish way was a very competitive one. Thrall wasn't even gone for a day and they were already vying for claim to Warcheif.

"Dan'ruk." Graul, of the Redmist clan, spoke. Graul was nearly as tall as Thrall and doubly as brutal. His corded muscles looked like they would burst out of his massive frame at the slightest move, and his skill with the axe was bar none. He was also, Thralls biggest competition and problem.

"Yes, Graul." Dan'ruk greeted as pleasantly as possible.

Graul crossed his bulging arms, his chin high and haughty. "What is happening, where is the Warcheif?" Of course he knew, but the words were better heard from Thrall's apprentice himself to aid his vie for chieftain.

"Something has gone amiss with the traps; he went to see what went wrong." The apprentice replied sagely, showing not a hint of turmoil.

The rival arched a hairless brow. "So what are we to do?"

"Jaina says we wait for his return." Dan'ruk explained with every inch of calmness he could muster. Just as the words fled his mouth, instinctively he winced at the soothing reply. With emotions running high, he knew he had made a devastating error. By the look on the chieftain's faces they knew his erroneous error too.

Features contorting into a snarl, Graul allowed a growl to escape his throat. "So we are taking orders from Thrall's pet human like good little slave orcs now? If I recall she is Thrall's prisoner not second in command."

"Her judgment is sound." Dan'ruk dodged defensively. Graul was manipulating the look of things, but some wouldn't call him wrong for showing the issue. Perhaps, he himself would have seen the problem like such before as well.

The hulking orc scoffed derisively, his eyes rolling. "And yours wouldn't be? You are Thrall's apprentice are you not?"

"No… that's…I …mean." Dan'ruk stumbled lamely, his voice faltering without argument.

"As second in command you shouldn't doubt your self." Graul proclaimed loudly with a scolding stare to the small orc.

Unaware to Dan'ruk he had drawn a crowd by his challenging gestures and boisterous words. Those who gathered looked at Thrall's scrawny lieutenant in doubt or at the very least a hint of uncertainty.

Inwardly, Dan'ruk knew this was just the beginning for Graul to claw his way to Warcheif.

"You doubt our Warcheif's apprentice?" Drek'thar rasped hollowly in the midst of the crowd.

The elderly seer hobbled out the healer's tent, watching the spectacle with blind eyes in silence. His gnarled rough fingers curled over a walking stick he leaned upon heavily. Peace smoothed his features though he was blind and the oldest of them all. He was still powerful in the elements though he looked frail and wane like a limpid stalk of grass.

Graul eyes slit into black dots as he glared at the far seer. He mumbled something, leaving to attend to those of his clan. The crowd departed, leaving only Drek'thar and Dan'ruk standing outside the healer's tents.

"It seems you have stumbled on to quite a problem, boy," Drek'thar stated calmly, his blind eyes peering to the forest edge.

The apprentice ran a hand over his smooth head. "What do I do?" Out of everything, the first thing he needed was advice to control the people and keep them from Graul's ideals of the Horde.

"It is not for me to say. You are not a child, but a wise man, even though you may not think such. I trust you will make a wise decision." Drek'thar admitted in a cough. Patting the young orcs shoulder to boost his hope, the aged orc limped back into the healing tent to aid the groaning orcs.

A curse fell darkly from the apprentices lips as he watched the old man go. He knew all too well he was no leader; he wasn't a brawny warrior or a powerful worg rider. He was just Dan'ruk. With eyes toward the sky, he prayed to the spirits, wondering what to do.

In that moment, though neither knew, Jaina wondered the same.

Jaina stood in a makeshift command quarters along the pass. A low yellow lantern hung over a large map of the territory hastily cobbled together by scout reports and storm crow elves over the trees. Inside, with the sorceress: Darren Silvercrest her lieutenant, Malach Sunwhisper leader of the elven priest, Gahron Guro master paladin of the Silverhand, and Selfer Ironhide, leader of the dwarven company of riflemen stood with her in council of their next course of action.

"How long are we going to wait for that barbarian?" Gahron asked sullenly, his armor clanking as he shifted from foot to foot in impatience. Leaning over the map, his eyes scanned the territory with a sharp glare dictating prime points on the parchment.

Jaina moved a blue and red peg on the map to the orcish huts. "Three days, no more, we can easily defend the pass should we need to move earlier. And if not we can take the secret path."

"That is more than enough time." The priestly elf piped up softly. "We all know if he is not back tonight, he is more than likely dead or captured."

Jaina was silent, knowing the fact was true. Thrall voluntarily walked into a mass of demons by his lonesome. Regret burned like fire through her with the thought. She should have gone with him to aid or at least get them out quickly.

The silence was broken by Jaina's faithful servant, Sara Brightguard. "Tea." The dutiful maid announced cheerily. Sliding through he full tent she placed the wooden tray on the edge of the table.

The sorceress gave a weary smile at Sara, no matter what she never seemed to be pessimistic. "Thank you Sara, we'll take five."

"Four." Gahron grumbled letting himself out the tent. Surly, he stomped back to the paladins at his command to gripe and grouse of waiting for an orc.

"Who put bee's in his armor?" Sara asked in a huff, her cheery tone not changing in the slightest.

Jaina laughed tiredly, as Sara poured, wanting to lose all composure and hug the loyal servant. The sorceress smiled knowing she always had one firm supporter even when the entire army of Horde and Alliance seemed to be fraying apart by the already patched seams.

~8~8~

The second day dragged on under the shadowed tree in the pass, and things had gone to hell in the orcish camp. In the dead of night Icehowl lumbered back into camp, her bright red tongue dry and lolled out and her limbs trembling like the shattered bonds of composure over the orc.

Seemingly overnight, the Horde had divided into Dan'ruk or Graul supporters with firm conviction in both.

Away from the main encampment, Graul was making a heated speech to supporters and those who were more and more coming over to his way of thinking than their Warcheif's apprentice.

Standing aloof and hedging the crowds by the shadowing trees, Dan'ruk listened to the rant helplessly. Arms crossed he leaned against the massive trunk of a beech tree and worried. How could he combat Graul's words when some he believed himself? Would he have been on Graul's side had Thrall been gone long enough; if the Warchief had not inspired him?

In full rage, Graul paced back and forth on the dais hastily erected for him. His words rang across the forest as he spoke with the fervor of a true orc. "The legion lurking among the trampled, puny Alliance base behind us is vast. Their swords are like the seas and their number are uncountable. We all know we can not halt their advance and drive them away. Our only being here was to slow them down for the crafty dark elves to complete there chancy plan of success! We orcs are no cowards, but we know when we are overwhelmed and we will not be fodder to demon masters or elven ones! The humans may dash themselves upon the claws of darkness, but I'll do my fighting at my choosing!"

The crowd murmured there agreement with the eccentric warrior. For many there was no arguing those facts.

"So what you say we do?" A warrior in the crowed piped up.

Graul's lips formed into a satirical snarl. "Our honored Warcheif, Thrall, put up a grand fight, in the cause he thought was just. Most of you saw his worg come back into camp; we all know a wolf would never leave their master lest he was dead, and sometimes not even then." He snapped a fist to his chest. "Now I ask you to claim me as your Warcheif, and we will leave this place to fight our way in this new land."

"What new land?" Dan'ruk finally spoke; outraged that Graul would use Icehowl as the point of why leadership should fall to his mantle. Jostling his way through the crowd, he came to look at Graul face to face; his eyes alit with battle lust. "If the legion succeeds to reaching the world tree this world will be washed from existence!" He roared, his lips flecked with foam.

"And how do you know this?" Graul sneered challengingly. "Every true warrior knows that there is no satisfaction in simply demolishing a conquered land. We will not be wiped from existence, we will do what we orcs have done for centuries, fight for our freedom to survive, not become a meat blockade for a plan destined to fail!"

The crowed was silent; Graul's words made sense, what would Thralls apprentice bring to the table?

"And if we decide to stay." Graul quickly added on. "It is you who would lead us, apprentice Dan'ruk? You who has not been fully bloodied a warrior by right of passage and death?"

Dan'ruk turned to the faces of the crowd leaning in to hear the opposing side. They needed a leader, a true leader not some power hungry orcs and they didn't need him either.

Asking for guidance he opened his mouth hoping something would spring forth. The spirits whispered through him, sending a tingling sensation rippling down his spine. With one whispered word, they gave him an answer that shocked even him. But there was no denying what the spirits suggested.

Dan'ruk turned back to Graul, a half smile on his ugly face to betray the doubt he felt brewing within his soul. "You are right, Graul, we do need a Warcheif. Someone fearless as a wolf in the heat of battle and tactical and wise as a serpent on the plains."

"So you finally coming around, to my thinking." Graul puffed out his scarred, muscled chest proudly, his tusked lips formed into a smirk of victory.

Dan'ruk tossed his head. "No, I am talking of Jaina."

Sargeras himself could have skipped right up into the orc camp wearing bunny ears and a pink dress, singing to the top of his voice and no one would have noticed. Shock stamped every crude orcish face in the milling crowd. They all stared at Dan'ruk, in amazed silence at such a proposal. A human for an orcish Warchief?

"Has war taken what little mind you had, boy?" Graul sputtered after finding his voice again from the shock.

Dan'ruk ignored him, turning to the crowd once again. He raised his sinewy arms to the heavens as the spirits spoke through him with their boundless wisdom. "You have all seen her prowess in battle, how she defend not just her own, but us all with her cunning and magic. Though they were but games in a tourney she defeated Thrall in honorable combat, solidifying a right to rule."

Graul set up yelling in protest but Dan'ruk was not to be silenced. Pointing to the human encampment, he screamed to be heard. Thunder rolled in his voice commanding the upstart orc Graul to startle to silence from the power of the elements roiling through Dan'ruk. "They have lost their kingdom, their families, and now their keep. They have all followed her, and I would swear to the spirits not one has deserted. To face down a suicide war campaign with out blinking, under her rule, now that is leadership! Her rule makes us look like milksops debating to abandon a fight! Are we less then they?"

Cheers of agreement rang form the crowd in a startling turn of events. One orc amidst the crowd raised the sorceress name in a bloodthirsty chant, swept by the novel idea of a human Warchief.

Dan'ruk shot a victorious look to the defeated Graul. The muscled orc knew he had no chance of becoming Warchief with such a tidal swing over to a human. He relished in this moment, for the hard part would come soon enough.

Now, he pondered amidst the cheers, how was he to get Jaina to accept the job of Warcheif of the Horde?

~8~8~

The prominent Horde and Alliance commanders stood together in a loose ring about the Alliance encampment. Dan'ruk had called the emergency meeting right after he had made his choice for the next Warcheif.

The sun stood in the middle of the sky, looking down at the meeting of disgruntled races and distrusting eyes. Tempers flared high, but none dared show their full ire.

"Late last night." Dan'ruk began solemnly, his voice laced with sadness. "Icehowl walked into camp, alone."

The face of the sorceress fell as she fought back a gasp of painful dread, all knew what that meant. A wolf was loyal till the end. "So what are your people going to do, Dan'ruk?" She asked quietly, holding back her sadness for Thrall.

"Well." The young orc drawled awkwardly, rubbing the back of his thick neck. "Thrall left no heir or right to ruler so we must choose."

Melancholy danced in her eyes as she forced her words out. "And who have your people chosen?"

"You, Lady Proudmoore." He announced, holding nothing back from her with skirting phrases or innuendoes.

Complete and utter silence fell upon the meeting with all save Drek'thar looking at Dan'ruk in shock.

"Lady Proudmoore, you have to accept, or dire actions will be set in motion." Dan'ruk tacked on before another word cold be spoken positively or otherwise.

"Is that a threat?" Darren growled at Dan'ruk, he moved a hand moved on his sword.

The apprentice shook his bald head. "No it is an ultimatum. You know of Graul of the Redmist clan."

"Yes," Jaina finally managed to say through her surprise. "I have heard of him causing trouble for Thrall but he dared not challenge him to leadership."

Jerking his head back to the fires of orcish encampment, the shaman in training scowled. "I don't like this either, but if you do not accept, Graul will assume mantle of Warcheif and lead our people away from the defenses. He does not believe in this cause, he has argued to abandon this suicide and swath a path of survival for ourselves under the elves strange woodlands."

The sorceress shook her head, mumbling a curse under her breath. They couldn't lose the orcs strength and warriors, but she did not like the fact of filling in Thrall's shoes, especially when the seat was not even cooled. "Then I guess my choice is no choice at all. If the Horde abandons us we are doomed definitely. I accept."

"You are talking of becoming the leader of our enemy those filthy savages. You are a noble woman. You should not be rooting about with these Horde dogs. Take time to think about this, my lady!" Guro yelled in opposition.

The sorceress swiveled her head to the paladin. Blistering scolding danced in her abject cold orbs. "Time, Gahron." She retorted icily, her words brimming with anger. "Is something, we don't have."

"What will the men say, Jaina Proudmoore, leader of the survivors and Warcheif of the Horde?" He protested insipidly, turning his eyes away from her wrath.

She nodded her head determinedly, denying the wariness in her heart. "I have faith my men will see reason. Besides if we survive this I shall post haste give up my title to who deserves the mantle of Warchief."

Darren grimaced, taking a deep breath to gather his emotion. He liked the fact no more than anyone else, but he could see the logic and see her hands bound with little choice in the matter. "Very well, my lady, I will inform our men of the situation." He put severe emphasis on the word "our", but bowed and departed as did Gahron.

Watching them walk away, Jaina turned back to Dan'ruk, uncertainty smeared across her face. Things were never just simple as the passing of leadership, she knew very well. Things would get complicated in a short amount of time, she knew imperatively.

Breathing in deep, she managed a grim smile to the apprentice. "Tell me what needs to be done, Dan'ruk."

~8~8~

Bonfires burned brightly around the orc encampment lodged deep in the pass. Glowering embers danced over the slick green flesh of a myriad of orcs who came to witness the spectacle of their new Warcheif. Bright war paint and blood etched their faces in tribal patterns of ages past, each representing their own clan.

The chieftains of different tribes encircled Jaina, all silent and grim at the solemn occasion. Ceremonial war regalia and blades sat heaped upon their bodies and on their sides to show loyalty.

Alliance knights and footmen shifted warily on the outer side of the ring, ready to come to their lady's aid should she need be.

In the midst of the orcish circle stood the sorceress. Orc blood dabbed her right cheek in swirling patterns whilst her left cheek was donned with her own crimson essence. The smooth, glossy blood glimmered in the light turning her features into a savage visage. Her mage robes were replaced by cloth of orcish make, but her staff remained as he weapon of choice. Hair pulled down, her wild honey tresses wafted through the night breezes.

Standing tall in the sea of muscled orcs who were hand spans taller than she faced Drek'thar and Dan'ruk. Her face was a courtly neutral giving no hint of what went on in her heads behind the barbaric war paint.

Bronze bowl in his grip, the elder Drek'thar mumbled ancient incantations over the incense in the brazier. Holding up his shaking hands the elder shaman Drek'thar let the smoke in the bronzed bowl trail up to the dark firmament. After a moment of strange words in a tongue of time gone by, he vapidly brought the brazier down to chest level.

Rocking back and forth, the white of his blind eyes showing, he gave an absent nod to Dan'ruk. The spirits had to truly be in approval for chief of chiefs before the ceremony could get underway.

"The spirits approve the choice." Dan'ruk's strong voice rolled out over the darkness in a peal of thunder. Turning to the crowd he raised his hands high. "Who challenges Jaina, daughter of Daelin, leader of the survivors of Lorderan the right to lead the Horde? Who challenges Jaina who defeated Thrall, son of Durotan in honorable combat as Warcheif of the proud orcs?"

Graul grumbled slightly, but brooked no challenge. Silence ensued for several seconds, listing, waiting for someone to speak up.

As the last moment ticked by, the apprentice allowed a faint, sad smile to trace his lips. "Then as spirits as our witness hail Jaina Proudmoore, daughter of Daelin, leader of the survivors of Lorderan, Warcheif of the Horde, and Lady of the clans!"

Per tradition, Drek'thar raised her hand in victory.

Any negative comments where drowned out by the loud roars of cheers, rolling down the ranks of savage orcs. Caught by the cheering even the humans were infected by the wild cries. Weapons pounded on shields and cries of her name roared into the night with the dull swirling embers of the fires.

Looking around at her people and the orcs, all together, fighting, dying, and cheering as one Jaina could not help but feel pride steal into her heart. This was how it should be, she thought - together.

Dawn was just hinting the tree tops as Jaina slogged tiredly back to her tent. The tradition for Warchief was a ritual that went all through the night. She was obliged to hold contests for the orcs who wanted to measure her strength in magic and receive war gifts from her new people and accept warriors from clans who offered their service to her protection.

By the end of the night exhaustion nearly overcame her limbs. Trembling in abject fatigue from the lengthy trial, she barely pushed open the tent flaps and padded into her private quarters.

Sara as always waited for her, tea warm an at the ready.

"Have you been up all night, Sara?" She asked tiredly in a yawn and collapsed on her makeshift cot all in one motion.

"I didn't know what time you'd be back missus." Sara stifled a yawn of her own, her eyes drooping.

The quiet snoring of the exhausted sorceress reached the servants ears even as the words left her lips. She was even to tired to stay awake another second. Smiling fondly at the sleeping young woman, Sara pulled the thin gray blanket over her and departed herself to her own tent allowing the leader of both armies to sleep.

For Jaina it felt like all of two seconds she had fallen on the cold hard cot before wakefulness pulled at her senses. Late in the morning, the sun filtered into to the crumpled tent with thin shafts of light dancing over the trampled grasses. Raised voices echoed from outside; rough orc voices mingled with angry human.

"We need to speak with our Warcheif." Dan'ruk snarled savagely, his voice muffled by the tent fabric.

"The Lady Proudmoore is resting, because you orcs had to have your foolish ritual at the crack of midnight!" Darren yelled back contritely, his words peevishly brutal.

Jaina walked out of the tent just as it seemed a brawl was about incur. Work was never done, she reminded herself sleepily. Eyeing the interaction she held up a hand.

Her lieutenant's actions were noble but useless in a war. "Be silent, Darren." She rebuked curtly glaring at him with a disapproving eye.

All who noticed her presence straitened up, a few marines, and grunts saluting their leader.

"What is the situation, Dan'ruk?" She asked turning her attention to the heavily breathing orc.

"We need to discuss the funeral traditions for Thrall." He explained lowly and reverently.

The spy master scoffed callously. "Huh, all this racket for a cry fest to a rotting carcass. He's dead. One less orc to worry about."

Dan'ruk snarled, unsheathing his mace in reply to the insult. He would have struck the human had there been a human there. A puff of magic burst through the air like a popping bubble.

Blinking rapidly, the orc looked down to see Darren wandering around aimlessly and baaing in indignation. Marines held back there smiles and laughs. Obviously Darren had forgotten Jaina did not ask twice.

"Let us go somewhere more private for this talk." Jaina replied, completely ignoring the lieutenant bumping against her leg pleadingly.

Before leaving with the orc, the sorceress renewed the spell staring crossly at the Darren sheep. Her words were cold addressing the newly restored spy master. "Brush off my orders again, Darren, and I will turn you into a sheep, permanently." She warned without a hint of joking.

The marine entourage followed behind, talking to themselves as she discussed plans with Dan'ruk; could she do something like that?

~8~8~

The sun was slowly sinking into the west when Jaina finally returned to her tent again for the second time that day. She and Dan'ruk had spent a good three hours talking of the funeral arrangements for Thrall and other situations had occurred to drag her from her peaceful repose awaiting in her cot.

The sorceress sighed rubbing her temples, she had not known orc culture would be so, complicated with the dead. Obviously they were revered, but so intricately sent her head spinning.

The rest of the time had been spent making details for the defenses when they arrived at the orc encampment. Wagons had been loaded, packs had been stuffed in carts, and the next dawn they would be on there way.

For the second time that day, she sank wearily onto the cot. But sleep was hard in coming. She had never wanted this, to lead, or be a warrior, not even for the Alliance. All she had ever wanted to do was study.

At last, truly alone for a few precious hours she allowed the tears to well in her eyes. Curled up in her cot like a small, afraid child the tears fell in torrent down her cheeks. Sleep and mourning both vied for dominance of her body. Thrall, the compassionate orc, the one who understood, was gone. Thrall the orc who drew strength from her and she him laid dead by the demons.

She would miss him. By the light she would miss her tender Thrall.

But, determination welled within, she had to continue for him. They both wanted to save their world and if she allowed her emotions to overrule her senses she would fail utterly and entirely. Now more than ever she needed strength.

Forcing the tears away, the sorceress closed her wet indigo eyes and allowed sleep to wash over her. She could cry when all was said and done. She could remember him and the taste of his lips when the world was not burning.

Sleep finally winning she fell into a light doze with Thrall on her mind.

Then the screaming began.


End file.
